'A 


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THE   RAIN-COAT  GIRL 


THE  SCRIBNER  SERIES 
FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE 

EACH  WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 
BOOKS  FOR  BOYS 

THE  MODERN  VIKINGS  By  H.  H.  Boyesen 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE'S  LITTLE  LAD         By  Imogen  Clark 
THE  BOY  SCOUT  and  Other  Stories  for  Boys 
STORIES  FOR  BOYS  By  Richard  Harding  Davis 

BANS  BRINKER,  or  The  Silver  Skates 

By  Mary  Mapes  Dodge 

THE  HOOSIER  SCHOOL-BOY  By  Edward  Eggleston 

THE  COURT  OF  KING  ARTHUR    By  William  Henry  Frost 
WITH  LEE  IN  VIRGINIA 
WITH  WOLFE  IN  CANADA 
REDSKIN  AND  COWBOY 
UNDER  DRAKE'S  FLAG.  *  Tale  of  the  Spanish  Main 

By  G.  A.  Henty 

AT  WAR  WITH  PONTIAC  By  Kirk  Munroe 

TOMMY  TROT'S  VISIT  TO  SANTA  CUVUS  and 
A  CAPTURED  SANTA  CLAUS  By  Thomas  Nelson  Page 

THE  FULLBACK  By  Lawrence  Perry 

BOYS  OF  ST.  TIMOTHY'S  By  Arthur  Stanwood  Pier 

KIDNAPPED 
TREASURE  ISLAND 

BLACK  ARROW  By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

AROUND  THE  WORLD  IN  EIGHTY  DAYS 
A  JOURNEY  TO  THE  CENTRE  OF  THE  EARTH 
FROM  THE  EARTH  TO  THE  MOON 
TWENTY  THOUSAND  LEAGUES  UNDER  THE  SEA 

By  Jnles  Verne 

ON  THE  OLD  KEARSARGE 

IN  THE  WASP'S  NEST  By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady 

THE  BOY  SETTLERS 

THE  BOYS  OF  FAIRPORT  By  Noah  Brooks 

THE  CONSCRIPT  OF  1813  By  Erckmann-Chatrian 

A  CADET  OF  THE  BLACK  STAR  LINE 
THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN  By  Ralph  D.  Paine 

THE  MOUNTAIN  DIVIDE  By  Frank  H.  Spearman 

THE  STRANGE  GRAY  CANOE  By  Paul  G.  Tomlinson 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  FRESHMAN    By  J.  L.  Williams 
JACK  HALL,  or.  The  School  Days  of  an  American  Boy 

By  Robert  Grant 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS 

THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  By  Jennette  Lee 

SMITH  COLLEGE  STORIES  By  Josephine  Daskam 

ROSEMARY  GREENAWAY 

ELSIE  MARLEY  By  Joslyn  Gray 

THE  HALLOWELL  PARTNERSHIP 

By  Katharine  Holland  Brown 

MY  WONDERFUL  VISIT  By  Elizabeth  Hill 

SARA  CREWE,  or.  What  Happened  at  Miss  Minchin's 
A  FAIR  BARBARIAN  By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

NEXT-BESTERS  By  Lulah  Ragsdale 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 


The  two  figures  halted  opposite  the  door  and  talked  a  minute 
in  low  tones. 

[Page  305] 


THE  RAIN-GOAT  GIRL 


BY 
JENNETTE  LEE 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW   YORK    :     :         :    :    1922 


COPYRIGHT,  1019.  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO 
GERALD  STANLEY  LEE 

HAVE  WE  NOT  HALF  ETERNITY  BEFORE  U8  ? 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 


THE  child  raced  home  through  the  storm,  her 
head  bent  and  her  short  swift  legs  flying  fast. 
To  the  south  great  thunder-heads  formed,  and 
a  gray-green  sky  shut  out  the  light.  The  down- 
bent  face  glowed  with  the  joy  of  the  race.  Tingling 
forces  were  about  her,  and  she  tossed  her  head  a 
little,  throwing  back  the  escaped  lock  that  teased 
her  eyes  like  a  pony's  forelock.  She  was  not  un- 
like a  young  colt  racing  through  the  storm  with  her 
short  swaying  body  and  the  stout  little  legs  spud- 
ding along.  Her  breath  grew  quick.  Her  heart 
drummed  to  the  rhythm  of  her  flying  feet,  and  the 
first  drops  of  the  storm  spirted  and  stung  at  her. 
A  long  slanting  gust  whirled  by,  drenching  her 
head  and  shoulders,  and  she  ducked  to  it  and  tossed 
back  the  lock  from  her  eyes.  .  .  .  She  was  almost 
home — two  more  fields,  then  down  the  hill  and  into 
the  side  street!  ...  A  glare  lit  up  the  sky  and 
crashed  the  world  about  her.  She  lifted  a  startled 
face.  Over  the  top  of  the  hedge  beside  her  she  saw 
the  windows  of  the  great  house  on  the  hill  lighted 
up  and  a  woman's  white  face  peering  out.  Then 
the  gray-green  mist  shut  down.  The  hedge  beside 
her  was  brilliant  with  wet,  the  gutter  ran  brown, 
She  shook  the  drops  from  her  hair  and  sped  on. 


2  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

An  opening  broke  the  hedge,  and  between  the 
greenness  a  wide  straight  driveway  led  to  the  house. 
At  the  end  of  the  drive  a  woman  was  coming  swiftly 
down  the  steps  of  the  house. 

She  beckoned  to  the  child  with  imperious  hand. 

"Come  in  here  out  of  the  rain !"  she  called. 

With  a  startled  glance  the  child  hesitated.  Then 
she  swerved  into  the  opening  between  the  wrought- 
iron  gates  and  trotted  up  the  driveway  to  the  house. 

The  woman  on  the  white-pillared  porch  reached 
out  a  hand  and  drew  her  to  the  door.  They  stepped 
within  and  a  great  crash  descended  on  them  behind 
the  closed  panels.  The  woman  gathered  the  child 
hi  her  arms  crushing  her  almost  fiercely.  The  child 
submitted  impassive.  There  was  a  bewildered  look 
in  the  dark  eyes  gazing  out  of  the  encircling  arms  at 
the  great  hall  and  the  wide  stairway  rising  from  it. 

The  woman  released  her  with  a  quick  gasp,  but 
her  hands  seemed  to  linger  on  the  sturdy  shoulders 
and  wet  hair,  smoothing  them 

"Come  iri  here,"  she  said.  "You  are  wet 
through!"  She  led  the  way  into  the  long  room  at 
the  right  where  a  fire  glowed  on  the  hearth,  and 
placed  her  before  it,  drawing  off  her  shoes  and  wet 
stockings  with  quick  touch.  Her  hands  held  the 
pink  swinging  feet  a  moment,  pressing  them  gently. 

She  was  kneeling  before  the  child,  looking  up. 

"What  is  your  name?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"I  am  Isabel  Merton,"  said  the  child  gravely. 

"Isabel — Isabel!"  murmured  the  woman  half- 
^crooning.  "Isabel  and  a  pot  of  basil !" 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  3 

The  child  stared  down  at  her.  She  had  never 
heard  the  word  basil.  Years  afterward  when  she 
encountered  it  in  a  high  Gothic  library,  a  grown-up 
girl,  she  saw  suddenly  the  rain-drenched  windows 
and  a  woman's  sombre  eyes  looking  up  at  her  from 
the  fire 

She  bent  down  to  her  feet,  looking  at  them  half- 
askance.  "They  are  not  so  very  wet !"  she  said. 

"No."  The  woman  crushed  them  suddenly  be- 
tween her  palms  and  let  them  go.  She  got  to  her 
feet. 

"Stay  here  till  I  come."  She  vanished  through 
the  open  door,  and  the  child's  eyes  studied  the  great 
room —  Pictures  on  the  high  wall.  A  soft  brilliant 
rug  beneath  her  feet.  Wherever  the  firelight  played 
it  brought  out  glowing  color.  It  ran  along  the 
burnished  edge  of  the  table  and  touched  the  strange- 
shaped  lamp  and  played  on  rows  of  books.  They 
stretched  away  in  the  dimness,  and  the  child's  eyes 
followed  them  curiously.  She  had  never  been  in  a 
room  like  this.  But  she  felt  suddenly  at  home  in  it 
and  surrounded  and  protected. 

The  fuzz  of  the  soft  rug  tickled  her  feet  deliciously. 
She  drew  them  up  one  after  the  other  to  the  rung  of 
her  chair.  After  a  minute  she  put  them  quickly 
down,  working  her  toes  absently  back  and  forth  in 
the  soft  pile.  Her  eyes  still  strayed  about  the  room 
—not  boldly,  but  unafraid,  as  if  each  object  they 
touched  were  strangely  familiar  to  her.  .  .  .  She 
breathed  slow  and  deep,  resting  back  in  the  big 
chair  before  the  fire.  Something  was  coming  to 


4  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

life  in  her,  groping  for  shape — it  lighted  her  face 
and  the  shy  eyes  glancing  about  the  mysterious 
room. 

The  eyes  turned  aside  to  the  doorway  and  smiled. 
The  woman  stood  in  it  holding  a  child's  coat  in  her 
hands.  She  came  forward  to  the  fire  holding  it 
'out. 

"This  will  keep  you  dry  and  warm,"  she  said. 
She  spread  it  on  a  chair  before  the  fire  where  the 
short  stockings  had  been  drying  and  took  the 
stockings  drawing  them  thoughtfully  through  her 
fingers. 

She  knelt  on  the  floor  by  the  child. 

But  the  child  slipped  quickly  from  her  chair.  She 
plumped  down  on  the  rug. 

"I  can  put  them  on,"  she  said  practically. 

The  woman  relinquished  them  to  her,  half  reluc- 
tantly, and  sat  with  her  hands  hi  her  lap  watching 
a  little  wistfully  while  the  child  drew  on  the  stock- 
ings and  snapped  the  fasteners  in  place  with  quick 
skill  and  laced  the  clumsy  shoes. 

"You  do  it  very  well,"  said  the  woman,  and  the 
child  nodded.  She  was  bending  over  the  lacing  of  a 
shoe,  wetting  it  with  her  tongue  where  the  brass 
tip  was  gone.  She  slipped  the  wetted  end  skilfully 
through  the  hole  and  tied  the  knot  and  got  to 
her  feet.  Then  she  looked  slowly  about  the  great 
room. 

"I'll  have  to  go  now." 

The  woman  sighed  a  little.  She  got  up  and  took 
the  coat  in  her  hands.  It  was  a  plaided  cape  coat, 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  5 

deeply-rich  in  color  with  a  single  thread  of  scarlet 
running  through  the  plaid. 

She  held  it  out  to  the  child,  who  regarded  it  with 
doubting  eyes.  She  gave  a  quick  shake  of  her 
head 

"It'll  get  all  wet ! "  she  said  slowly.  She  motioned 
to  the  window  where  the  steady  ram  poured  down. 

The  woman  smiled  faintly  in  the  firelight.  The 
shadow  and  light  of  the  room  seemed  to  play  through 
her  face. 

"That  is  what  it  is  for,"  she  said,  "to  get  wet. 
It  is  a  rain-coat." 

The  child's  arms  inserted  themselves  slowly  in 
the  sleeves  and  her  hand  stroked  the  rich  surface 
as  the  woman  drew  it  up  about  her  neck  and 
shoulders. 

"Won't  it  hurt  it  to  get  wet!"  she  asked  wonder- 
ingly. 

"Not  a  bit !"  The  woman  shook  her  head.  Her 
lip  trembled.  She  drew  the  coat  in  place  and 
smoothed  it  and  buttoned  it  slowly  to  the  neck. 

The  child  stood  with  lifted  chin,  gazing  about  the 
room.  The  woman  drew  the  hood  over  her  damp 
hair  and  tucked  back  the  little  forelock.  Something 
in  the  touch  drew  the  child's  eyes  to  the  face  bending 
down  to  her  and  she  suddenly  lifted  a  quick  hand 
to  her  throat,  pulling  at  the  hooks 

"I  mustn't  take  your  coat!"  she  said.  But  the 
woman  put  back  the  hand  quietly. 

"I  want  you  to  take  it.  Tell  your  mother  I 
haven't  any  little  girl  to  wear  it,  so  it  is  yours.  .  .  . 


6  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

It  fits  you  perfectly.  It  seems  made  for  you!" 
She  smoothed  the  coat  with  lingering  touch.  The 
child  glanced  down  at  it  gravely. 

"It  is  yours!"  said  the  woman.  She  did  not 
touch  the  child  again.  She  only  watched  her  with 
deep  eyes  as  she  went  from  the  room,  through  the 
hall,  down  the  long  driveway — the  little  bright  coat 
flapping  hi  the  wind. 

At  the  gateway  the  child  paused  between  the  iron 
pillars  and  lifted  her  hand  from  beneath  the  cape 
and  waved  it  to  the  woman  standing  in  the  doorway. 
Then  she  turned,  and  with  down-bent  head  and 
flying  legs  sped  on  down  the  hill  through  the  rain. 

As  she  trotted  down  the  long  slope  of  the  hill  she 
saw  below,  through  the  rain,  the  gleaming  roofs  of 
the  town  among  the  wet  green  trees.  Two  spires 
rose  piercing  the  rain.  .  .  .  Then  as  she  looked 
ahead,  the  gloom  of  the  rain  seemed  lifting.  It 
was  drawn  up — clouds  of  light  swept  over  wet 
roofs — a  clear  soft  brightness  was  in  the  air.  .  .  . 

And  suddenly  the  child  stopped  with  a  gasp, 
looking  up 

There  in  the  sky  hung  a  thing  of  wonder.  It 
arched  above  the  roofs  and  the  two  spires — in  soft 
brilliance.  The  rainbow  arch  spanned  the  sky 
above  the  town  in  the  trees. 

She  stood  alone,  gazing.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
child  life  she  saw  a  bow  hi  the  sky. 

She  was  alone.  .  .  .  No  one  to  explain  the  miracle 
— a  pot  of  gold  at  either  end — a  bow  of  promise — 
drops  shining  through  the  sun.  Only  the  splen- 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  7 

did  beautiful  Thing  there  swung  high  in  the  arch 
and  her  child-heart  lifting  to  it  till  she  caught  her 
breath  and  ran  on  down  the  hill,  awed  and  happy. 

The  thin  silvery  threads  of  rain  fell  on  her  as  she 
ran. 

And  the  little  coat  kept  her  dry. 


n 

SOMETIMES  her  typewriter  took  only  one  lobe  of 
her  brain,  and  with  the  other  she  would  see  herself 
vividly  the  day  she  came  running  home  through  the 
storm  and  burst  hi  upon  her  mother  with  the  glow 
of  the  coat  wrapped  about  her — and  her  mother's 
startled  unrecognizing  glance  turned  to  her 

"Who—!    What ?" 

And  then  the  stern  pale  voice. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  that  coat!  Take  it  off 
this  instant !  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

And  the  child's  face  uplifted — the  tears  mingling 
with  the  rain  on  it.  ... 

"It's  mine! — My  coat!"  passionately.  "A  lady 
gave  it  to  me  1 " 

"Take  it  off ! — I  tell  you !    We  are  not  paupers !" 

And  she  had  watched  her  mother  dully,  when  the 
storm  was  over  and  the  trees  were  glistening  with 
wet,  take  the  coat  on  her  arm  and  walk  quickly  down 
the  path  to  the  street.  She  watched  her  with  her 
thin  and  shrunken  shoulders  under  her  ill-fitting 
black  cloak — till  she  passed  out  of  sight  down  the 
street. 

But  when  her  mother  returned  she  still  carried  the 
little  coat  on  her  arm.  And  it  seemed  to  Isabel  that 
her  face  looked  strange.  She  had  not  known  her 
mother's  eyes  were  like  that.  .  .  .  She  watched 
her  carry  the  coat  into  the  bare  back  entry  and 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  9 

hang  it  with  the  others  on  a  hook  and  come  back. 
Her  eyes  still  had  the  strange  look  she  had  not  re- 
membered was  in  them.  ...  It  flashed  suddenly 
to  the  sombre  eyes  of  the  woman  on  the  hill  and  hi 
both  faces  the  child  saw  something  unknown — 
Something  that  beckoned  to  her  vaguely.  She 
,  leaned  forward. 

"Can  I  wear  it,  mother?" 

Her  mother  rattled  a  stove-lid  a  moment.  Then 
she  looked  up  with  dull  face. 

"You  can  wear  it  when  it  rams,"  she  said. 

But  the  child  wore  it  every  day  and  its  warmth 
wrapped  her  about. 

She  was  six  years  old  when  the  little  rain-coat  came 
to  her.  Sitting  before  her  typewriter  in  the  of- 
fice of  John  Berwick  and  Son  taking  swift  notes 
or  copying  them  out,  it  sometimes  seemed  to  her 
looking  back  that  all  the  years  of  her  life  had  been 
lived  since  the  day  the  coat  came. 

She  had  hurried  to  school  in  it  skipping  a  little, 
tossing  her  head  and  running  in  the  spring  wind. 
The  group  at  the  door  brought  her  to  a  halt. 

They  drew  aside—  Whispers  came  to  her  and 
half -giggled  words — that  left  her  breathless. 

"Bessie  Berwick's  coat!" 

"Hs-sh!  .  .  .    She's  dead!" 

A  tremor  ran  through  the  child.  The  mystery  of 
the  coat  and  the  slighting  glances  seemed  to  meet 
in  her  and  crush  her  between  them.  Then  she  Uf  ted 
her  head  and  stared  back  across  the  gay  soft  collar 
of  the  little  coat. 


io  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

They  turned  their  curious  important  backs  on 
her  and  whispered.  She  longed  to  press  in  among 
them.  But  she  stood  outside  and  waited,  her  head 
lifted  and  her  gaze  fixed  on  the  whispering  backs  and 
nodding  heads.  Something  in  the  coat  seemed  to 
give  her  courage. 

When  the  bell  rang  and  they  hurried  in  she  took 
off  the  coat  slowly  and  hung  it  on  a  nail  in  the 
entry  beside  her  dinner-pail,  and  went  in  feeling 
dully  that  she  left  something  of  herself  hanging  there 
on  the  nail. 

She  wore  a  blue  denim  dress  and  stout  cheap 
shoes.  Her  mother  made  all  her  dresses — two  each 
spring  exactly  alike  with  wide  hems  and  tucks  to 
let  down  and  tucks  in  the  sleeves.  She  wore  them 
until  they  were  worn  out,  faded  and  threadbare. 
But  they  were  always  clean. 

Sitting  in  her  seat,  her  head  bowed  above  the 
arithmetic  with  its  pictures  of  pears  and  apples  and 
cherries  and  grapes 

Three  in  a  row 

Five  in  a  bunch 

Her  mind  hovered  about  the  entry  trying  to  re- 
cover its  lost  glow.  And  for  the  first  time  she  knew 
that  her  dress  was  ugly. 

But  in  the  entry  on  its  nail  hung  the  gay  little 
coat  and  in  spite  of  nudging  looks  her  heart  sang 
over  her  arithmetic.  The  pictures  of  numerical 
fruit  were  works  of  art  and  the  rows  of  figures,  shin- 
ing cabalistic  signs.  ...  At  recess  the  girls  took 
her  in.  They  let  her  play  with  them,  and  Ella  Fried- 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  II 

man  the  leader  walked  down  to  the  gate  and  back 
with  her  arm  around  the  waist  of  the  little  plaid 
coat.  .  .  .  She  was  only  a  little  girl  in  a  shabby 
denim  dress,  but  the  coat  and  the  mystery  of  the 
coat — something  of  the  child  on  the  hill  and  the 
love  the  coat  was  made  with — seemed  to  cover  the 
denim  dress. 

They  even  let  her  lead  in  their  games  that  day, 
and  the  strangeness  of  it  made  her  shy  and  a  little 
unhappy  at  first.  She  had  always  followed  where 
the  others  led.  Now  when  they  turned  to  her  sud- 
denly and  asked:  "What  let's  play?"  a  little  shiver 
ran  through  her. 

Even  in  summer  when  she  had  left  off  the  coat  and 
the  blue  denim  was  more  faded  and  ugly  than  ever 
they  still  turned  to  her  as  leader. 

And  now  she  did  not  mind.  The  little  rain-coat 
had  got  her  started  not  being  afraid  and  her  spirit 
bubbled  with  it.  Gay  little  plans  shaped  them- 
selves in  her  head.  Quaint  conceptions  that  the 
other  children  did  not  seem  to  have.  Sometimes  she 
stroked  the  coat  where  it  hung  in  the  closet  or  she 
buried  her  face  in  it  for  a  minute  drawing  in  her 
breath  sharply  with  closed  eyes.  There  was  a  curi- 
ous smell  to  the  rainproof  cloth  that  set  her  blood 
tingling.  The  odor  seemed  to  sweep  her  along 
through  the  rain — along  by  the  hedge  into  the  house 
on  the  hill  where  the  woman  with  the  white  face 
waited.  .  .  .  The  woman  on  the  hill  was  not  there 
any  more. 

Only  John  Berwick  and  his  son  fivecf  in  the  big 


12  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

house  now.  7  John  Senior  and  John  Junior  they  were 
called  in  the  works.  ^ 

It  was  almost  tune  for  John  Senior  to  come  hi  and 
dictate 

She  glanced  up  at  the  clock  over  his  desk.  Her 
fingers  hurried  on —  .;  The  left  lobe  of  her  brain  went 
back  softly  to  the  morning  she  heard  her  mother 
and  the  neighbor  talking  together  mysteriously  by 
the  sink  in  the  kitchen.  The  neighbor  had  brought 
in  a  tea-cup,  but  it  stood  unheeded  on  the  table. 

She  bent  to  the  sink  and  half-whispered  the 
words 

"They  say  it  was.  ..."  Then  her  voice  sank 
and  her  eye  glanced  back  at  the  child. 

"Run  away,  Isabel!"  said  her  mother  sharply. 
And  the  child  went  slowly  out  but  the  words  followed 
her — whispered  and  strange 

"Dead  before  they  could  get  to  her — 

It  was  years  before  she  knew  what  the  words 
meant. 

She  only  knew  the  word  dead  went  with  the  coat. 
It  subdued  its  gayness  and  deepened  its  mystery  and 
became  part  of  her  life. 

She  drew  out  the  sheet  from  her  machine  and 
laid  it  hi  place  and  straightened  her  shoulders  and 
glanced  again  at  the  clock.  She  had  been  copying 
since  nine.  It  was  nearly  eleven.  John  Senior  was 
late. 


m 

HE  came  in — a  stout  man  with  short  neck  and 
short  fingers  scrupulously  clean.  He  wore  a  checked 
suit  of  dark  material,  a  little  red  and  green  stripe 
running  through  it.  The  checks  were  small.  There 
were  men  in  the  works  who  could  remember  when 
John  Berwick  wore  checks  that  were  two  niches 
across. 

That  was  before  John  Junior  came  back  from 
Europe. 

He  crossed  to  his  desk  and  sat  down  and  nipped 
a  little  at  the  knee  of  each  trouser. 

"I'm  ready,"  he  said. 

She  got  up  and  came  over. 

"Where  is  Fannie?"  He  glanced  sharply  at  a 
covered  machine  by  the  window  that  looked  out  on 
the  street. 

"She  went  away  over  Sunday,"  said  Isabel. 
"Her  train  missed  connections.  There  is  a  telegram 
on  your  desk.  She  will  be  back  on  the  two-ten  she 
says." 

He  grunted  and  pushed  the  telegram  aside  with 
his  finger. 

"I'll  have  to  use  the  dictating-machine.  Hate 
it!" 

"Yes,  sir."  She  waited,  her  pencil  uplifted.  At 
the  first  word  of  the  dictation  it  fell  to  the  paper  and 
moved  with  the  smooth  precision  of  a  machine  along 


'i4  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

the  page  of  her  note-book.  John  Senior's  voice  was 
gruff.  Some  of  the  words  he  dictated  were  peculiar. 
The  pencil  transcribed  them  smoothly.  When  the 
copy  came  to  his  hand  he  knew  the  emphasis  of  the 
words  would  be  kept,  but  the  roughness  would  be 
gone.  .  .  .  John  Berwick  valued  Isabel's  work. 
She  had  been  steadily  promoted  since  she  came  to 
the  mill  six  years  ago.  John  Berwick  knew  effi- 
ciency when  he  met  it.  The  success  of  the  firm  was 
built  up  on  efficiency — the  efficiency  of  employees. 
But  he  had  no  use  for  the  modern  science  of  efficiency 
in  business.  He  ran  his  business  on  a  common-sense 
basis.  He  was  fond  of  saying  this. 

Isabel  Merton  sometimes  said  that  John  Senior's 
bark  was  worse  than  his  bite.  She  had  learned  this 
through  two  years'  free  translation  of  his  language. 

When  he  had  dictated  steadily  for  half  an  hour  he 
paused  and  sighed  and  wiped  a  hand  across  his  fore- 
head. 

"Well,  you've  got  all  you  can  handle  there.  I'll 
do  the  rest  into  the  machine."  He  got  up  with  a 
scowl  and  went  toward  the  door.  And  presently 
through  the  closed  door  she  heard  his  irascible  voice 
shouting  into  the  machine.  She  knew  he  was  dic- 
tating and  she  knew  that  the  language  would  be  a 
little  worse  than  usual.  It  would  require  tact.  She 
smiled  happily.  Her  fingers  flew  at  the  keys. 

She  liked  to  copy  for  John  Senior. 

For  a  time  there  was  only  the  click  of  the  keys  and 
the  rasping  voice  through  the  closed  door  girding  at 
the  machine  and  grumbling  on. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  15 

The  square  blank  room  with  its  dead  white  walls 
and  six  windows  let  in  a  flood  of  light.  There  was  a 
large  desk  with  a  chair  before  it,  two  typewriters, 
four  chairs,  and  a  table  and  a  waste-basket.  The 
two  stenographers  used  one  work-table  between 
them.  There  was  no  other  furniture  in  the  room  and 
no  rug  on  the  floor.  John  Berwick  did  not  believe  in 
waste  or  clutter.  But  the  stenographers  were  well 
paid — as  girls'  work  goes.  You  do  not  expect  to 
pay  a  girl  as  much  as  a  man.  It  is  not  common  sense. 

The  girl's  presence  hi  the  bare  room  was  like  a 
touch  of  spring — a  bit  of  arbutus — a  fragrant  pink 
flower  thrust  carelessly  into  a  stiff  cardboard  box 
and  shining  through  folds  of  wax  or  tissue  paper — 
a  bird-song  caught  in  the  phonograph  and  turned 
out  with  a  crank — a  bit  of  pulsing  life  bound  to 
routine.  .  .  .  The  soft  clear  color  of  her  skin  glowed 
against  the  rough  serge  dress,  and  the  glints  in  her 
hair  caught  the  light  and  shimmered  with  it.  The 
glinting  light  in  the  room  seemed  to  play  about  her 
subtly  as  if  her  flying  fingers  drew  electric  force  from 
the  keys  and  cast  it  in  swirling  invisible  streams  on 
the  air  about  her. 

The  six  windows  were  open  and  murmurs  of 
sound  came  in — the  distant  whirr  of  cars  and  clanging 
of  bells  that  jarred  faintly.  Across  the  windows 
flitted  vague  shadows  of  flying  wings.  And  now 
and  then  a  bird-song  drifted  in  flute-like.  Spring 
was  in  the  ah-.  She  lifted  her  face  to  it  and  then  to 
the  clock. 

The  door  from  the  hall  opened.     A  young  man 


1 6  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

came  in.  He  glanced  at  the  typewriter  and  closed 
the  door. 

"Father  in?"  he  asked. 

The  sound  in  the  room  beyond  that  had  been 
silent  a  minute  broke  out  anew. 

She  moved  a  shoulder  toward  it.  The  young  man 
laughed  out.  The  harsh  voice  seemed  to  pause  a 
second  and  go  on  grimly. 

The  young  man  stood  by  the  desk  looking  thought- 
fully at  the  papers  heaped  on  it.  His  face  bent 
over  the  papers  was  thin,  almost  gaunt,  and  the 
lines  of  the  cheek  bones  and  wide  forehead  gave  it 
the  suggestion  of  a  sketch — a  rough  outline  of  a 
face — blocked  hi  but  not  filled  out.  The  tall  loose 
frame  in  its  well-cut  clothes  went  easily  into  the  pic- 
ture, and  the  eyes  studying  the  papers  with  a  little 
humorous  glance  belonged  in  it — but  back  of  the 
humor  brooded  another  look.  Something  oddly  at 
variance  was  hi  the  eyes  as  they  glanced  up  at 
the  girl.  She  was  not  looking  at  him.  Her  fingers 
seemed  to  snatch  the  words  from  the  keys  in  swift 
rhythm  and  the  glinting  head  nodded  to  them. 
He  watched  her  a  minute  quietly. 

"Busy  all  the  morning?"  he  asked. 

"Yes — Fannie's  off."  Her  fingers  did  not  cease 
their  play  and  she  did  not  look  up. 

He  fidgeted  a  minute  with  the  papers.  "You 
couldn't  help  me  then?" 

"At  twelve,  perhaps." 

"That's  luncheon — you  ought  not— 

"I  don't  mind."    She  said  it  happily  and  drew 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  17 

out  the  paper  and  held  it  off  and  inserted  another. 
He  might  have  been  a  shadow  flitting  across  the  win- 
dow, the  whirring  cars  on  the  distant  street.  Her 
eyes  were  absorbed. 

"Very  well."  He  selected  one  or  two  papers  from 
the  pile  on  the  desk.  The  door  of  the  inner  room 
opened  quickly. 

"Hello,  John!"  His  father  nodded  and  came 
over.  He  looked  at  the  papers  the  young  man  held 
in  his  hand  and  nodded  again. 

"That's  right!  Take  them  along— all  of  them. 
This  too!"  He  thrust  another  at  him.  "Got  our 
hands  full  to-day."  He  pushed  up  his  cuffs  and 
cleared  the  space  for  action.  The  young  man  with- 
drew smiling  a  little  humorously.  At  the  door  he 
glanced  back.  The  glinting  head  was  bending  to 
its  work.  She  had  not  noticed  he  was  going.  His 
hand  on  the  knob  turned  it  with  quick  grip  and  he 
went  out. 

Across  the  room  John  Senior  paused  a  minute  in 
his  work.  His  eyes,  small  and  round  and  paternal 
and  thoughtful,  rested  on  the  brass  knob.  They 
turned  to  the  unconscious  girl  and  rested  on  the 
glinting  head. 

"Most  through,  Bel?" 

"Yes,  sir."    Her  eye  sped  along  her  notes. 

"I'll  wheel  in  the  machine  then.  You  can  copy 
in  here—  Better  light." 

John  Berwick  was  careful  of  his  employees  as  a 
good  farmer  is  careful  of  cattle.  He  did  not  need 
any  modern  efficiency  expert  to  tell  him  that  it  pays 


i8  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

to  take  good  care  of  your  stock  and  tools.  He  knew 
that,  before  the  expert  was  born  or  thought  of.  Any 
sensible  man  knew  it!  ...  Especially  when  help 
was  as  valuable  as  Bel  Merton  you  are  careful  of  it. 
He  came  trundling  the  machine  before  him  and  rolled 
it  alongside  her. 

She  looked  up  with  a  nod.  "Thank  you,"  she 
interpolated  between  the  dabs  at  her  notes  and 
hurried  on.  He  grunted. 

"Better  stop  now.    'Most  twelve." 

She  glanced  swiftly  at  the  clock.  "I'm  going  to 
help  Mr.  John  Junior  at  twelve."  He  stared  re- 
sentfully. 

"  He  can't  have  you  to-day ! " 

She  smiled  a  little  and  gathered  up  her  papers. 
"I'll  take  it  out  of  lunch-hour.  You  don't  mind 
that?" 

"No — "  he  grumbled.  "But  not  more  than 
twenty  minutes,  mind  you ! " 

"All  right ! "  She  handed  him  the  sheaf  of  papers 
and  he  went  out. 

She  looked  about  the  big  bare  office  with  a  happy 
smile  and  stretched  her  shoulders  a  little  and  looked 
at  the  window  where  the  clouds  sailed  high.  .  .  . 

Spring  in  the  air ! 


IV 

IN  his  own  office  John  Junior  paced  back  and 
forth  with  loose  swinging  step.  It  was  a  large  oblong 
room  with  a  recess  at  one  end  where  a  wall  had  been 
taken  down  to  let  in  the  small  room  behind.  John 
Senior  had  consented  to  this  when  the  young  man 
came  home  from  Europe.  He  was  haunted  by  the 
fear  his  son  would  go  away  again  and  never  return. 
To  prevent  this  he  was  willing  to  sacrifice  good  floor 
space. 

John  Junior  had  been  travelling  in  Europe  in  the 
summer  of  1914.  When  the  war  broke  out  he  en- 
listed in  a  Canadian  regiment,  but  was  wounded 
and  returned  home.  He  had  been  rejected  by  his 
own  war  office  when  the  country  declared  war. 
And  there  was  little  prospect  he  knew  ruefully  that 
he  would  be  in  Europe  either  as  traveller  or  soldier 
for  years  to  come.  .  .  .  He  paced  the  floor  space 
from  end  to  end.  He  knew  exactly  the  number  of 
steps.  There  was  a  little  path  worn  hi  the  Wilton 
rug  where  he  had  measured  them  off.  John  Senior 
had  marked  the  path  with  disapproving  eye  the  first 
day  he  discovered  it — just  beginning  in  a  faint  line 
of  gray.  .  .  .  Still  a  path  is  a  path — and  not 
Europe.  A  new  Wilton  rug  could  be  bought  for 
fifty  dollars.  Meantime  the  path  grew  deeper.  It 
widened  a  little. 

John  Junior  murmured  inaudible  words  as  he 

19 


20  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

paced  back  and  forth  on  the  rug.  .  .  .  He  paused 
at  the  window  and  looked  up  at  the  sky.  Spring 
clouds  sailed  in  it. 

"High — my — lie — die.  . .  ."  he  murmured.  Then 
he  threw  himself  with  a  faint  laugh  into  the  chair 
by  the  desk.  .  .  .  Why  should  a  human  being  be 
driven  like  this!  .  .  .  Words  and  tumult — trying 
to  get  together — trying  to  get  out!  He  whistled 
softly.  He  looked  toward  the  window  and  his 
brain  took  up  a  new  rhythm  beckoning  to  him 
coaxingly. 

There  were  chenille  curtains  at  the  windows, 
terra-cotta  in  color,  and  the  couch  between  the  wiiv 
dows  was  covered  by  a  curtain  of  the  same  color. 
The  curtains  had  fringes  on  them  and  there  was  a 
fringe  on  the  yellow  silk  lamp-shade  that  concealed 
the  electric  bulb  on  the  desk.  The  desk  was  dark, 
antique  oak.  All  the  furniture  in  the  room  was 
dark.  The  pictures  on  the  walls  were  photographs 
of  famous  paintings  or  rums.  The  largest  was  a 
Braun  photograph — Mona  Lisa  smiling  on  a  foolish 
world.  .  .  .  On  the  window-sill  were  three  scarlet 
geraniums  in  pots.  They  were  in  full  bloom  and 
very  bright  and  lusty. 

The  young  man's  eyes  dwelt  on  the  geraniums 
while  his  lips  murmured  vague  words.  The  eyes 
scowled  on  the  geraniums  as  if  they  pained  him. 
Then  he  turned  his  head.  The  rhymes  vanished. 
He  smiled  quickly.  There  was  a  light  tap  on  the 
door. 

"Come  in!"  he  called.  He  got  up.  "Come  in, 
Miss  Merton." 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  21 

He  was  standing  with  his  long  fingers  pressed  down 
on  the  desk,  gazing  at  her  kindly. 

She  crossed  to  the  window  by  the  geraniums  and 
sat  down.  The  light  behind  her  glinted  out  around 
her  hair. 

He  blinked  a  little  and  seated  himself.  He  reached 
a  careless  hand  to  a  drawer  and  took  out  a  hand- 
ful of  notes  and  ran  them  through  his  fingers. 

She  waited  with  calm  pencil. 

"This  is  a  poem,"  he  said.  He  selected  it  and 
held  it  off.  "Poetry  but  not  rhyme,"  he  added 
kindly.  "You  understand —  I'll  tell  you  when  the 
lines  end." 

She  nodded  and  raised  her  pencil.  He  began  to 
read  with  a  low  musical  intonation  that  seemed  to 
draw  the  words  from  the  air  and  light  about  them  and 
weave  them  into  a  mood.  The  girl's  pencil  moved 
swiftly. 

The  only  break  in  the  musical  rhythm  was  a  halt 
on  each  fifth  accent  and  the  crude  word  "end." 
It  fell  with  a  thud  into  the  even  rhythm  that  strove 
to  sweep  past  it.  It  blocked  the  flowing  words. 

He  paused  in  irritation  and  looked  at  her,  a  little 
line  between  his  eyes. 

"I  think  I'll  tap  on  the  desk,"  he  said,  "instead  of 
saying  '  end. ' '  She  nodded  coolly. 

"You  will  get  used  to  it  after  a  minute,"  he  said 
kindly. 

"I  don't  think  I  need  it  anyway, ' '*  she  replied. 
"It  seems  to  go  along  easy." 

His  eyes  glowed  at  her  and  his  voice  took  up  the 
lines  and  swung  them  rhythmically  and  her  pencil 


22  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

caught  them  in  little  lines  and  curves  and  fixed  them 
in  place.  His  look  grew  rapt.  The  pencil  flew  fast. 
The  spring  light  filled  the  room.  .  .  .  He  paused 
and  drew  a  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"That  is  all — all  I  have  finished,"  he  said  regret- 
fully. The  pencil  made  a  note. 

"Now  this  one,"  he  selected  a  paper  and  held  it 
off.  "This  has  rhymes  and  stanzas.  It  is  to  a 
young  girl.  .  .  .  I  call  it  'ToLydia'- 

"What  tune  is  it?"  she  asked  practically.  There 
was  no  clock  on  the  wall  of  John  Junior's  room. 

He  felt  for  his  watch,  groping,  his  eye  on  the  lines. ! 
The  eye  dropped  to  the  watch  face 

"Twelve-forty,"  he  said  absently. 

"I'll  have  to  go."  She  slipped  a  band  about  the 
notes  and  got  up.  "I'll  copy  this  to-night — or 
to-morrow.  We  are  rushed  to-day." 

She  moved  to  the  door. 

"  Triple-space,  please,"  said  John.    She  nodded. 

Then  she  was  gone,  and  John  looking  out  between 
the  chenille  curtains  murmured  softly: 

"High — lie — dry."  A  bird's  wing  came  between 
the  inaudible  words  and  the  sky  and  he  frowned  at 
it.  He  got  up  and  went  to  the  window.  A  car  had 
driven  up  below.  His  father  was  beckoning  to  him. 

He  muttered  softly  and  looked  for  his  hat  and 
went  out. 


BACK  in  her  office  Isabel  uncovered  her  machine 
and  looked  thoughtfully  down  at  the  notes  she  had 
made  for  John  Junior. 

She  shook  her  head  and  covered  up  the  machine 
and  put  the  notes  hi  her  drawer.  She  had  promised 
John  Senior  she  would  work  only  twenty  minutes  and 
it  was  thirty-five  already.  It  was  not  fair — when 
John  Senior  did  not  grumble.  She  must  be  fresh  for 
his  work  when  he  came  back.  The  blank  verse  could 
wait.  She  would  copy  it  to-night  after  hours. 

She  went  to  the  closet  across  the  room  and  brought 
out  her  lunch-box,  a  tin  box  covered  with  black 
canvas.  There  was  a  mirror  in  the  closet  hidden 
behind  the  dust-cloth,  and  she  took  it  out  and 
smoothed  and  arranged  her  hair  and  patted  the  col- 
lar of  her  dress  with  swift  efficient  hands.  Then  she 
put  the  mirror  back  behind  the  dust-cloth  covering 
it  carefully.  .  .  .  There  had  been  three  mirrors 
before  this  that  had  mysteriously  disappeared.  John 
Senior  disapproved  of  prinking  and  flummery.  But 
he  had  never  thought  to  look  behind  the  dust-cloth. 
She  carried  her  luncheon  to  the  window  and  took  it 
out.  There  was  bread  and  butter  and  jelly,  with  a 
piece  of  cheese  and  a  bite  of  sausage  and  a  large 
banana.  She  spread  them  on  the  sill  and  ate  slowly 
looking  from  the  window  up  at  the  transparent  blue 

23 


24  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

sky  and  down  to  the  crowd  of  girls  laughing  by  the 
fence  below.  They  were  talking  and  strolling  back 
and  forth. 

Isabel  sometimes  joined  them  by  the  fence — when 
she  had  time.  But  to-day  would  be  full.  She  ate 
happily  looking  down  and  feeling  the  soft  air  in  her 
face.  .  .  .  Presently  Millie  Matoon  caught  sight 
of  her  and  waved  from  the  crowd  beckoning.  She 
shook  her  head.  The  others  looked  up  and  waved 
their  hands.  The  air  seemed  filled  with  waving 
hands  and  laughter  and  calls.  She  waved  to  them 
gaily.  A  group  of  young  men  strolled  by  and  the 
girls  turned  careless  eyes.  They  were  not  waving 
to  them.  A  young  man  made  a  snatch  and  seized 
a  ribbon  and  held  it  up,  shaking  it  teasingly.  The 
girl  snatched  back  striking  with  little  dancing  pats 
like  a  kitten.  The  young  man  laughed  and  strolled 
on.  Isabel  smiled  down  contentedly,  watching  them. 
John  Sampson  always  teased.  .  .  .  Two  other 
boys  came  up  and  talked  a  minute  and  went  on. 
The  girls  shifted  and  laughed  and  talked.  The  warm 
sun  played  over  them.  A  group  of  younger  boys 
marked  out  a  marble  ring  and  began  to  play. 

There  was  a  rest-room  inside  at  the  north  end  of 
the  building  where  the  girls  could  take  their  luncheon, 
with  a  small  stove  for  warming  coffee  or  chocolate. 
And  there  was  a  similar  room  for  men  and  boys  at  the 
west  end.  The  rooms  were  rarely  used.  .  .  .  They 
had  been  fitted  up  by  John  Junior  when  he  came 
back  from  abroad.  He  had  visited  paternal  fac- 
tories there — Lord  Leverhulme's  and  John  Cad- 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  25 

bury's,  and  he  came  home  with  dreams  of  com- 
mercial benevolence.  .  .  .  John  Senior  had  granted ' 
the  rooms  surlily.  He  would  have  arranged  to  bring 
down  the  moon  if  John  Junior  insisted,  and  there 
would  have  been  no  more  moonshine  in  the  moon 
than  in  the  rest-rooms — to  him.  When  to  his 
grim  amusement  the  employees  ignored  the  rest- 
rooms  he  chuckled.  Then  he  stormed — at  waste 
of  good  floor  space.  But  the  rooms  remained  va- 
cant except  on  very  stormy  days  when  a  subdued 
crowd  gathered  in  them  with  punctilious  formality. 
On  other  days  the  girls  gathered  as  of  old  by  the 
fence  and  the  boys  passed  by  and  snatched  at  rib- 
bons and  made  clumsy  jokes  at  them. 

Isabel  never  used  the  rest-room.  When  it  rained 
she  and  Fannie  ate  their  luncheon  in  the  office  in 
John  Senior's  absence.  He  smiled  sardonically 
when  he  came  back  early  one  day  and  found  them 
gathering  up  crumbs,  but  he  made  no  comment. 

John  Junior  looked  at  them  disapprovingly.  He 
too  said  nothing. 

The  rest-room  was  not  the  only  difference  of 
opinion  between  the  senior  and  junior  members  of 
the  firm.  But  when  they  drove  from  the  office  in  the 
swift-rolling  car  they  left  differences  and  disagree- 
ments behind  them. 

To-day  in  the  spring  air  the  father  sitting  solidly 
on  the  soft  cushions  looked  with  affectionate  eyes 
at  the  young  man.  For  sheer  pride  and  approval  it 
would  be  difficult  to  match  his  enjoyment  of  his  son's 
presence  in  the  car  beside  him.  Each  morning  he 


26  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

waked  with  the  fear  of  losing  it,  and  each  night  he 
went  to  bed  thankful. 

He  had  long  since  given  up  hope  of  making  John 
Junior  a  first-class  business  man  though  he  had  not 
confided  this  to  John  Junior.  He  would  not  for 
worlds  have  him  know  it.  He  planned  craftily  to 
make  him  feel  that  without  his  invigorating  modern 
ideas  the  business  would  go  to  smash.  Beyond  this 
they  did  not  talk  much  of  business. 

John  Senior  interested  himself  in  poetry.  He 
made  slow  headway  in  it  from  day  to  day.  He  had 
bought  a  book  on  poetry  written  by  the  maker  of  a 
famous  explosive.  It  was  a  large  book  and  it  told 
exactly  how  poetry  should  be  made —  Poetry  it 
seemed  was  a  regular  science,  a  kind  of  trade,  and 
easy  as  silk-making  when  you  got  the  hang  of  it. 
The  explosive-maker  explained  how  it  was  done  and 
even  rewrote  several  of  the  classics,  showing  how 
modern  science  would  improve  them. 

John  Senior  studied  the  book  faithfully.  And 
reading  the  classics  to  be  amended  he  gained  a  cer- 
tain familiarity  with  them.  They  seemed  to  bridge 
a  little  the  gap  between  John's  world  and  his  own. 
He  had  a  guilty  feeling  of  preferring  the  originals  to 
the  form  presented  by  the  explosive-man,  but  he 
concealed  this  preference  carefully  from  John— 
who  was  modern  in  all  things.  It  would  not  do  to 
have  him  suspect  that  his  father  was  old-fashioned 
in  poetry  as  well  as  business.  ...  He  had  there- 
fore never  learned  that  John  despised  the  explosive- 
man  and  considered  his  amendments  a  kind  of  crude 
and  ignorant  sacrilege  in  the  world  of  poetry. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  27 

"You  done  any  poetry  to-day?"  asked  the  father 
casually.  They  were  climbing  the  long  hill  to  the 
house.  The  machine  was  in  high  and  they  moved 
smoothly  and  swiftly  up  the  long  slope. 

John  turned  his  gaze  from  the  budding  hedge  at 
the  right.  The  green  privet  shoots  made  him 
strangely  content. 

"Any poetry?—  No —  Yes —  A  little.  Isabel 
copied  some  for  me.  A  poem  in  blank  verse."  His 
father  nodded. 

"Same  form  as  Hamlet?" 

The  young  man  smiled  slightly.    "Yes." 

"I  can't  spare  you  Bel  any  more  for  a  while," 
said  the  father  thoughtfully.  John  Junior  turned 
from  the  privet  hedge.  .  .  . 

"You  said " 

"Yes-yes!  I  know  I  promised — "  He  laid  a 
placating  hand  on  the  knee  near  him.  "You  can 
have  her  again  when  the  spring  trade  slacks  up.  .  .  . 
Maybe  I  could  spare  you  Fannie  now,  once  in  a 
while,  if  you  wanted  her,"  craftily. 

"I  don't  want  Fannie!"  It  was  almost  sulky. 
"You  can't  dictate  poetry  to  her !" 

"No.  I  don't  suppose  I  can — you  can — anybody 
can!"  said  John  Senior  hastily.  .  .  .  "Why  don't 
you  take  one  of  the  machines?  Do  it  yourself?" 
John  stared. 

"Copy— myself!" 

"Um-m-." 

The  young  man  considered  it. 

"Well— aU  right,"  obligingly. 

"Good  idea!"  said  his  father.    A  typewriter  was 


28  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

a  long  step  toward  the  practical  and  he  was  a  hope- 
ful man.  Moreover  he  was  not  sure  he  wanted 
Isabel  copying  any  more  of  John's  poetry.  The  look 
from  the  door  and  the  quickly  turned  knob  lingered 
with  hun.  ...  It  might  not  mean  anything  in 
particular  and  then  again  it  might —  Spring  was 
in  the  air.  ...  It  would  be  a  good  thing  anyway 
for  John  to  have  a  machine  of  his  own — safer  for  him 
to  copy  his  own  poetry  maybe. 

John  Junior  turned  it  over — "I  need  one  just  now 
• — in  the  spring  so.  I  want  to  send  things  to  the 
Atlantic.  It's  important !" 

His  father  accepted  it  at  its  face  value.  He  said 
nothing. 

"I  have  had  one  or  two  letters  from  the  editors 
of  the  Atlantic"  went  on  John  Junior.  "Personal 
letters — not  just  printed  blanks ! " 

"They  ever  take  anything  of  yours?" 

"Not  the  Atlantic"  admitted  John.  "I  had  an 
acceptance  the  other  day."  He  added  it  carelessly. 
He  had  not  told  his  father —  It  had  seemed  almost 
too  sacred  to  mention.  John  Senior's  face  lighted. 

"That  so !    You  hadn't  told  me !" 

"I  hadn't— thought  to  speak  of  it." 

"Pay  you  anything  for  it?"  asked  his  father 
quickly. 

"No —  Poetry  is  not  measured  by  price ! "  The 
tone  was  a  little  stiff. 

"No-no!  Of  course  not!  Well  that's  good!" 
John  Senior  beamed  on  him  and  on  the  hedge. 
They  were  moving  in  through  the  wrought-iron 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  29 

gate.  The  great  house  rose  before  them.  John 
Berwick  was  ready  to  take  what  came  and  make 
the  most  of  it — thankful  that  it  was  no  worse.  He 
turned  to  his  poet-son  with  a  cheerful  smile. 

"  There's  an  extra  machine  in  my  office — a  good 
one.  You  take  it  up  to  your  room.  Do  what  you 
want  with  it." 

"Very  well,  sir."  The  car  came  to  a  stop  before 
the  white-pillared  porch.  In  an  upper  room  of  the 
house  John  Berwick  had  watched  tragedy  pass  to 
fulfilment —  He  was  thankful  for  what  remained. 
Thankful  for  his  son — even  though  he  was  not  a 
business  man  but  only  a  poet. 

He  laid  an  affectionate  hand  on  John  Junior's  arm 
and  kept  it  there  as  they  went  up  the  wide  white 
steps  together. 


VI 

THE  office  door  opened  on  a  flurry  and  fluff.  Fan- 
nie Blakeley  blew  in. 

"Well!  You  can  believe  I'm  glad  to  get  here! 
Slow-coach ! —  Old  man  cross  ?  "  She  took  off  her 
hat  and  passed  to  the  closet. 

Isabel  smiled  faintly.  "No  more  than  usual. 
He  knew  you  were  held  up."  She  nodded  to  the 
yellow  envelope  on  the  desk. 

"Wasted  a  quarter!"  grumbled  Fannie.  She 
searched  for  the  mirror  behind  the  dust-cloth  and 
fluffed  her  hair  and  got  out  her  vanity-box,  humming 
a  little. 

"Glorious  time!"  she  murmured.  "They  keep 
a  car !  Something  like !  Sometimes  I  think  I  won't 
stay  in  this  hole  another  day!"  She  whisked  the 
cloth  from  her  machine  and  blew  lightly  on  it  and 
felt  for  the  rag  at  the  back. 

"What's  doing?"  she  asked  briskly  as  she  ran 
the  cloth  along  the  carriage.  She  tucked  it  behind 
the  machine  and  looked  over  at  Isabel. 

"This,"  said  Isabel.  She  touched  her  note-book, 
"and  that."  She  nodded  to  the  dictating  machine 
beside  her.  FaniuVs  face  felL  She  glared  at  the 
machine. 

"That  fool- thing !  I  can't — not  to-day — not  after 
joy-riding  all  Sunday !"  She  looked  at  the  machine 
belligerently. 

30 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  31 

"Well  come  here,  old  stick-in- the-box !"  She 
seized  it  and  whirled  it  before  her  to  the  window, 
connecting  it  to  the  plug  in  the  baseboard. 

Isabel's  eyes  twinkled.  She  returned  to  her 
notes—  There  was  silence — a  little  br-r-r — and 
then  John  Senior's  raucous  voice  from  the  machine — 
indignant  and  high.  Fannie  giggled. 

"I  just  can't!"  she  said  helplessly.  "Hear  him, 
will  you ! "  She  gave  a  warning  slap  to  the  machine. 
She  shut  it  off.  "Swearing  like  a  trooper,"  she  said 
contemptuously. 

"He  doesn't  mean  anything!"  said  Isabel.  "It's 
just  wind — and  words ! " 

"It  isn't  ladylike!"  said  Fannie.  She  giggled 
again  and  turned  on  the  power  and  listened.  "If 
I  copied  it  that  way  he  would  never  forgive  me !" 

Isabel  came  over  and  listened.  Her  little  amused 
smile  gathered  up  the  words  that  rasped  the  air. 
She  reached  to  the  button  and  turned  it  off.  "I'll 
take  it,"  she  said  decisively — "if  you  can  read  my 
notes." 

"Your  notes  are  always  beauteous,  dear!"  re- 
plied Fannie.  She  received  them  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  and  fluffed  her  elbows  and  settled  into  flying 
speed. 

"Just  turn  that  horn  the  other  way,  won't  you?" 
over  her  shoulder.  "  It  makes  me  nervous — Even  if  I 
can't  hear  it  plain  I  know  they're  something  fierce." 

With  a  smile  Isabel  adjusted  the  machine,  shif ting 
the  mouth-piece  until  it  faced  the  door.  She  moved 
her  typewriter  a  little  to  bring  it  in  range  again. 


32  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

The  office  was  quiet  except  for  the  subdued  bark- 
ing and  grumbling  in  the  horn.  Isabel's  pink  ear 
turned  to  it,  glowed  a  little.  But  after  all  there 
was  nothing  offensive  in  the  words — just  horse  sense 
— rough  sense.  And  if  you  took  out  the  swear- words 
and  touched  it  up  a  little  it  was  nice  breezy  English. 
It  went  with  the  surf  crashing  off  Craig's  Point  and 
the  wind  up  on  the  moor.  There  was  a  salt  tang  to 
it  that  made  you  breathe  deep. 

Her  keys  clicked  out  the  words  and  trimmed 
them  and  smoothed  them  down.  She  almost  hated 
to  do  it — they  were  so  like  John  Senior  with  their 
freshness  anxi  tang.  Isabel  knew  guiltily  that  she 
preferred  John  Senior's  business  style  to  the  flowing 
lines  of  John  Junior's  poems.  It  seemed  to  her 
sometimes  that  John  Junior's  poetry  did  not  mean 
anything  really.  It  was  just  words — and  not  in  the 
least  like  John  Junior.  He  could  see  a  joke  as  well 
as  any  one,  when  he  was  not  thinking  up  rhymes. 

Suddenly  she  laughed  out  and  turned  back  the 
machine.  Fannie  looked  up.  .  .  . 

"Dippy?"  she  asked. 

She  turned  her  face.  John  Senior  had  come  in. 
He  looked  at  the  machine  and  listened  a  minute  and 
smiled  grimly.  He  put  out  a  hand  and  stopped  it. 

"Got  all  the  rest  done?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

He  reached  for  the  sheets  and  took  them  up. 
The  telephone  on  his  private  wire  sounded.  He 
put  down  the  papers  and  went  over  to  the  'phone. 
"What?-  Yes....  Oh!—  Yes,  I'll  come.  ... 
Yes,  right  off." 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  33 

His  voice  had  become  suddenly  mild  and  pleased. 
He  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  look  of  shrewd  satis- 
faction and  straightened  his  vest  on  his  plumpness 
and  left  the  room. 

Fannie's  repressed  giggle  broke  out  as  the  door 
closed  behind  him.  Her  eye  dropped  to  the  street 
below  and  brightened.  She  leaned  out. 

"Limousine!"    she   said    swiftly.      "Some    car,' 
that!—     And  folks.    Come  over  here,  Bel."    She 
waved  a  beckoning  hand  behind  her. 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head  smiling.     "Not  now  !j 
We  have  got  to  hurry  you  know !" 

"  All  right !  They're  getting  out.  Visit- the-works 
folks ! "  she  said  in  a  high  affected  voice.  "  See-how-  j 
you-make-all-this-beautiful-silk!  .  .  .  And  John 
Junior  coming  out —  And  John  Senior  bowing — • 
My-my!"  She  returned  to  her  machine  with  a 
mocking  sigh. 

The  click  of  the  typewriters  went  on.  Isabel 
finished  the  rough  draft  of  the  notes  and  read  them 
through.  She  reread  one  letter  with  a  look  of  sur- 
prise— and  read  it  again —  Yes,  she  had  it  right 
apparently.  That  was  what  it  meant.  He  had 
changed  his  mind  then!  She  looked  thoughtfully 
at  the  type- written  page.  She  had  not  thought  what 
the  words  meant  as  she  copied  them  off.  She  had 
been  more  absorbed  in  getting  them  right  and  enjoy- 
ing their  briskness.  Now  she  saw  that  John  Senior 
had  changed  his  mind.  She  had  written  four  letters 
for  him  about  this  deal  and  John  Senior  had  cau- 
tioned her  that  the  letters  must  not  be  mentioned,  no 
one  must  know — not  even  that  he  was  interested  in 


34  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

it.  It  was  not  silk-mill  business,  but  something  about 
an  option  in  oil.  She  guessed  dimly  that  there  was 
risk  involved  and  a  good  deal  of  money  for  John 
Berwick  if  it  went  through. 

He  had  been  careful  even  about  his  notes  he  dic- 
tated from,  tearing  them  in  small  pieces  when  he 
finished  dictating  and  thrusting  them  back  into  his 
pocket,  not  a  scrap  had  gone  into  the  waste-basket- 
He  could  trust  her,  he  told  her,  and  she  had  glowed 
with  pride.  No  one,  not  even  Fannie,  knew  of  the 
letters —  It  was  fortunate  she  had  taken  the  ma- 
chine back  from  her!  She  read  the  letter  again— 
John  Senior  had  certainly  changed  his  mind. 

She  went  over  it  swiftly.  .  .  .  Was  he  worried? 
Was  this  why  he  growled  and  shouted  so?  She 
smiled  faintly.  He  had  not  shouted  much  worse 
than  usual ! 

Fannie  glanced  across  at  the  silent  machine  and 
the  girl  looking  thoughtfully  down  at  the  paper  in 
her  hand. 

"Something  wrong?"  she  asked  carelessly. 

"No."  Isabel  put  down  the  page  with  a  flush. 
She  turned  to  her  machine.  Then  she  seemed  to 
change  her  mind  and  took  up  the  paper  with  the  car- 
bon copy  and  carried  them  to  the  desk  and  placed 
them  in  a  drawer,  locking  it  and  laying  the  key  in  a 
little  dish  on  the  desk.  She  understood  now.  .  .  . 
He  had  expected  the  roll  to  be  copied  before  Fannie 
came  back  and  he  expected  to  sign  it  at  once  and  send 
it  off.  He  had  meant  to  sign  it  a  minute  ago,  when 
he  came  in.  Well  it  was  safe  there.  She  glanced 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  35 

down  at  the  drawer  and  went  back  to  her  machine 
and  put  on  a  fresh  sheet  and  reached  to  the  horn. 

Then  a  thought  stayed  her.  She  would  run  back 
the  roll — repeat  the  letter  she  had  just  copied — 
make  sure  there  was  no  mistake.  She  shifted  the 
pointer  to  the  left. 

There  was  a  sound  of  voices  in  the  hall,  formal  and 
polite — company  tones.  Fannie  lifted  a  swift  face. 

"Company!"  she  breathed,  "and  me  in  my 
second-best ! " 

"  They  won't  come  in,"  laughed  Isabel.  "  Nothing 
to  see  in  here ! "  She  touched  the  button  and  the 
horn  began  with  swift  burring  click,  "John  G.  Moul- 
ton —  Dear  Sir " 


VII 

SHE  turned  her  head  —  The  door  to  the  hall 
was  open.  A  tall  man  stood  in  it  smiling. 

John  Berwick's  face  pressed  close  behind  him. 
He  was  regarding  the  machine  with  intent  look. 

The  voice  in  the  horn  was  rolling  stridently  out, 
"With  regard  to  the  deal  discussed  at  Dayton, 


With  a  grunt  John  Berwick  moved  toward  it  —  • 
but  the  stenographer's  quick  hand  had  touched  a 
button  and  it  was  still.  The  tall  man  approached  it. 

"A  dictating-machine  !  "  he  said  pleasantly. 
"Very  interesting.  Do  you  like  it?" 

"No  —  I  use  it,"  said  Berwick.  The  man  laughed 
in  appreciation  of  the  difference. 

"I've  thought  of  getting  one  myself.  Would  you 
mind  —  ?"  He  bent  courteously  to  the  young 
stenographer  who  sat  with  a  little  flush  on  her  face 
waiting. 

"Would  you  mind  showing  me  how  it  works?" 
he  asked. 

"  Certainly."    She  put  out  a  hand. 

Behind  her  John  Berwick's  eye  glowed.  But  her 
hand  did  not  touch  the  button.  It  merely  turned  a 
little  catch  at  the  side  that  released  the  roll.  She 
withdrew  the  roll  from  its  rod. 

"I'll  put  in  another  one,"  she  said  quietly,  "a 
better  one  than  this."  John  Berwick's  face  wore  a 

36 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  37 

gleam  of  humor.  He  watched  her  quick  fingers  select 
a  roll  from  the  stand  beneath  the  machine  and  in- 
sert it  deftly.  The  discarded  roll  lay  on  the  table 
beside  them. 

The  man  took  it  up  and  turned  it  casually.  He 
seemed  to  weigh  it  a  little  in  his  hand. 

"Very  light !"  he  said  in  surprise. 

"Composition,"  said  John  briefly. 

The  man's  fingers  caressed  the  smooth  shining 
surface  lightly.  "You  would  not  think  it  could 
talk,  would  you ! "  he  said  softly. 

"It  can't — not  now!"  said  John.  There  was  a 
grim  smile  on  his  lips. 

The  stenographer  touched  the  button  and  the  horn 
gave  out  a  little  blare. 

Isabel  rose  from  her  chair.  "You  can  hear  it 
better  here,"  she  said,  "if  you  sit  down." 

The  man  accepted  the  chair  with  a  bow.  He 
bent  his  ear  to  the  horn.  It  was  rolling  out  a  harm- 
less account  of  stock  and  the  crisp  items  dropped 
one  by  one  into  his  listening  ear.  His  face  wore  a 
smile.  His  fingers  holding  the  discarded  roll  touched 
it  absently  as  he  listened  to  the  voice. 

"Very  interesting!"  he  murmured.  He  glanced 
at  John  Berwick. 

"Not  your  voice?"  he  said. 

"No.  Secretary  of  the  Board,"  replied  John. 
His  face  wore  a  satisfied  look.  But  his  eyes  did  not 
leave  the  roll  in  the  capable  fingers. 

"All — very  interesting — the  difference  in  voices," 
said  the  man  with  a  smile.  "How  do  you  stop  it 


38  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

now?"  He  glanced  at  Isabel  and  she  came  for- 
ward and  touched  it. 

"You  push  it  like  this.  .  .  .  And  you  start  it- 
like  this."  She  repeated  the  process  and  the  man 
repeated  it  after  her,  almost  longingly  it  seemed. 

"Very  simple,"  he  said.  "And  now — this ? "  He 
held  up  the  rolL  "How  would  you  put  it  in?" 

She  took  it  from  him  with  slow  glance.  She  had 
not  looked  at  John  Berwick.  But  the  owner  stepped 
forward  with  a  gruff  smile. 

"I'll  do  it."  He  took  it  from  her.  He  turned 
to  the  machine  and  then  somehow  the  roll  slipped. 
...  It  struck  the  edge  of  the  table  and  glanced 
with  a  crash.  It  lay  in  a  hundred  pieces  on  the  floor. 
John  Berwick  looked  down  at  it, 

" Butter-fingers ! "  he  said.  The  other  man  looked 
down — regretfully. 

"Does  a  thing  like  that  happen  often?"  he  asked 
dryly. 

"Not  often,"  said  John, — "not  once  in  a  dog's 
age !  Clumsy  of  me ! "  He  laughed  awkwardly. 

There  were  voices  near  the  open  door  of  the  hall 
and  the  man  turned. 

A  young  woman  stood  in  the  doorway.  John 
Junior  was  with  her.  She  was  looking  up  at  him 
and  smiling. 

"See  here,  Ellen,"  said  the  man  in  a  quick  tone  of 
affection.  "Did  you  ever  hear  a  machine  talk?" 

Her  little  courteous  bow  included  the  two  young 
women  as  she  came  forward  to  the  machine.  She 
was  tall  and  large-framed,  and  the  reddish  hair 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  39 

gathered  loosely  about  her  face  gave  it  a  look  of 
pallor.  She  bent  to  the  machine  with  slow  near- 
sighted gaze. 

"How  does  it  work?"  she  asked. 

Her  father  touched  it.  "There  she  goes,"  he 
replied,  and  the  crisp  figures  rolled  up  at  her. 

"  How  commercial ! "  she  laughed  listening.  "  Not 
Paderewski  or  vaudeville,  is  it !"  She  ran  her  hand 
along  the  bar. 

"I'm  thinking  of  getting  one,"  said  her  father. 

"Delightful!"  she  responded.  "And  I  can  talk 
into  it.  I  should  like  to  hear  myself  talk!"  Her 
voice  lingered  on  the  words  bell-like  and  low  with 
a  drawling  note  of  pleasure. 

"  Try  this  one ! "  said  John  Berwick  generously. 

"May  I?"  She  sat  down  before  it  with  a  little 
flutter  of  garments.  All  her  clothes  seemed  oddly 
trivial  on  her.  But  her  movements  were  free  and 
large.  She  had  the  air  of  a  woman  who  is  accus- 
tomed to  admiration  and  a  little  indifferent  to  it. 

John  Junior  had  not  taken  his  eyes  from  her, 
and  John  Senior's  glance  under  its  gruffness  wore  a 
look  of  elation. 

She  folded  her  hands  obediently  in  her  lap  and 
looked  up  at  John  Senior.  ' '  What  next  ? ' '  she  asked. 
He  turned  to  Isabel. 

"Bring  a  roll,"  he  commanded.  "A  fresh  one  in 
there."  He  nodded  to  the  adjoining  room. 

She  turned  to  obey  him  with  a  little  smile  in  her 
eyes.  She  knew  John  Senior  was  secretly  pleased 
with  something,  pleased  to  entertain  these  people 


40  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

in  his  office  perhaps,  and  show  them  things  they 
had  never  seen  before.  But  she  was  glad  the  roll 
had  slipped.  She  wondered 

She  hunted  for  a  fresh  roll  but  could  not  find  one. 
They  had  all  been  used.  Then  a  little  smile  of 
amusement  touched  her  face  as  she  looked  at  one 
she  had  picked  up.  She  carried  it  to  the  machine. 

"There  are  no  fresh  ones,"  she  said.  "But  here 
is  one  that  is  interesting " 

It  was  a  roll  of  John  Junior's  poems,  the  only  one 
he  had  ever  dictated.  He  had  sternly  refused  to  use 
the  machine  again  after  this  one  attempt. 

"Cut  it  out !"  he  said  harshly  as  the  words  rolled 
from  the  mouth-piece.  But  with  a  little  gesture 
the  young  woman  sitting  in  front  of  the  machine 
stayed  his  hand. 

The  poem  moved  to  the  end  and  Isabel's  hand  shut 
it  off.  The  young  woman  turned  to  him  with  a 
generous  smile,  and  her  musical  voice  repeated  the 
last  words.  .  .  . 

"  Charming ! "  she  commented. 

John  Junior  flushed  brightly. 

By  her  window  Fannie,  ostentatiously  correcting 
copy,  laughed  out  suddenly.  John  Junior  glared 
at  her  and  at  the  window,  but  Fannie  seemed  not 
to  see.  She  had  eyes  only  for  her  work — the  model 
stenographer. 

When  the  visitors  were  gone  she  yawned  and 
leaned  back  and  stretched  a  little.  "Well  I  should 
faint !"  she  said  dryly.  "The  nerve  of  you,  putting 
that  thing  on !  What  did  you  do  it  for  ?  " 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  41 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Isabel  slowly.  "I  saw  it  and 
did  it." 

"I  should  think  you  did !  .  .  .  The  old  man  was 
pleased  though."  She  laughed. 

"Was  he?" 

"Pleased  as  Punch !  You  could  see  him  swell  up 
with  it."  Isabel  smiled. 

"We  have  got  to  hurry  now  to  make  up  for  fool- 
ing ! "  said  Fannie.  She  leaned  forward  and  looked 
down  from  her  window.  She  gazed  with  intent 
glance. 

"Bowing  and  la-da-dahing ! "  she  said  mincingly, 
"and  come-again-ing !  Oh  my!  .  .  .  And  clothes! 
What  do  you  suppose  she  paid  for  that  coat  ? "  she 
demanded,  whirling  around. 

"  Coat?—  I  don't  know.  She  ought  not  to  wear 
it  whatever  she  paid,"  said  Isabel  with  decision. 
Fannie  stared. 

"You  being  a  socialist?"  she  inquired. 

"  No—     It  doesn't  suit  her. " 

"Doesn't  suit  you,  you  mean! —  Too  swell! 
Did  you  see  John  Junior  look  at  her ! " 

Isabel  flushed  slowly.  "You  are  being  a  cat, 
Fannie!" 

"Cat-nothing!"  retorted  Fannie.  "He  couldn't 
take  his  eyes  off — from  the  minute  they  came  in— 
and  all  her  flummery— 

"That's  it!"  said  Isabel  quickly.  "She  ought 
not  to  wear  fluffy  things.  She  ought  to  be  plain  and 
big."  Her  absorbed  eyes  seemed  looking  at  it.  "I 
should  love  to  dress  her,"  she  said  thoughtfully— 


42  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"long  lines  and  colors  and  everything  close  and  fine. 
She  would  be  beautiful ! "  Fannie  turned  and  stared 
slowly. 

"You  are  nutty. —  What  do  you  care  what  she 
wears  ?  " 

The  girl's  eyes  came  back  from  the  dream  of  colors. 
"Oh  I  just  seemed  to  see  her  in  them— and  dif- 
ferent!" 

"You  better  just  seem  to  see  your  machine  for  a 
while,"  said  Fannie  dryly,  "and  different." 

There  was  silence  and  the  clicking  keys. 

"  She's  got  the  money  to  spend,  all  right."  Fannie 
drew  out  a  sheet  and  flicked  it  aside  and  put  in  an- 
other. "Can't  say  I  care  much  for  the  old  cock 
though!" 

"  For—  ?  "    Isabel  looked  up. 

"For  his  Nibs — spats  and  patent-leather.  Soft 
on  top  and  hard  as  nails  down  under !  You  know 
who  he  is  don't  you?  Eben  Braithwaite —  Awful 
swells,  you  know.  Rich! —  He's  president  of  the 
bank  or  something  over  to  Camden.  Ran  for 
Governor  once.  I  heard  him  make  a  speech  in  the 
opera-house  there.  Punk!  They  didn't  nominate 
him  ...  he  just  ran —  Guess  he  could  do  that 
all  right!"  She  laughed  out  and  attacked  her 
machine  with  a  flourish. 

"There— that's  the  last!  I'm  through!"  She 
whisked  on  the  cover  and  got  up. 

"John  Senior's  coming !  His  step !"  She  opened 
the  closet  door  and  took  down  her  hat  and  arranged 
the  dust-cloth  for  a  skilful  look. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  43 

John  Berwick  crossed  to  his  desk  and  drew  for- 
ward the  papers  waiting  on  it  for  his  signature. 

"You  through ! "  He  glanced  sharply  at  Fannie's 
hat  and  at  the  clock. 

It  was  five  minutes  past  five. 

"Good-night,"  said  Fannie.  She  closed  the  door. 
It  had  almost  the  effect  of  flight. 


VIII 

JOHN  BERWICK  signed  his  letters  slowly,  reading 
as  he  signed.  He  finished  them  and  glanced  at  the 
broken  roll  on  the  floor.  The  shattered  bits  had 
been  swept  one  side  out  of  the  way. 

"Too  bad  you  didn't  get  a  chance  to  copy  the 
Moulton  letter."  Isabel  looked  up  absently  .from 
her  study  of  John's  blank- verse. 

"I  copied  it.  Yes —  It's  there  in  your  desk— 
in  the  drawer.  The  key  is  in  that  little  tray  on  top." 

He  unlocked  the  drawer  and  drew  out  the  sheets 
and  glanced  at  them. 

"Good  girl !"  he  said.  He  read  the  letter  slowly. 
He  seemed  considering  it.  He  looked  across  to  her. 

"See  here !  I  think  I'll  dictate  this  again.  Bring 
your  book ! " 

He  had  changed  his  mind  back  again,  it  seemed. 
She  came  over  with  her  pad. 

He  dictated  slowly  and  waited  a  minute  con- 
sidering. 

"That's  all,  I  guess.  Copy  it  in  the  morning  and 
have  it  ready  to  sign  when  I  come." 

She  nodded.  She  was  looking  down  at  it,  reading 
her  notes  with  a  look  of  quick  interest.  He  watched 
her.  He  was  twirling  his  watch-chain  absently. 

"I  have  changed  my  mind,  you  see !  But  I've  got 
a  hunch  that  the  man  who  was  here  this  afternoon, 
Braithwaite —  He  ran  for  Governor  once—  John 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  45 

Berwick's  chest  expanded  subtly.  "I've  got  an 
idea  Braithwaite's  interested  in  it. 

"He  keeps  an  eye  on  me  all  right!  Whenever  I 
get  on  to  anything  worth  while  I  notice  Braith- 
waite's after  it  pretty  quick.  Guess  he  makes  most 
of  his  money  that  way!"  He  expanded  with  a 
quick  puff. 

"He  is  welcome  to  all  he  can  make  out  of  me !" 
he  chuckled. 

Isabel  was  making  marks  on  the  edge  of  her  pad, 
listening.  She  was  happy  that  John  Senior  trusted 
her.  She  knew  there  was  no  one  else  in  the  works 
he  would  have  talked  to  in  this  way.  But  there  was 
a  little  shadow  hi  the  look  on  her  face. 

"I  don't  like  him  very  well,"  she  said.  She  went 
on  making  marks.  John  Senior  laughed  shortly. 

"You  don't  have  to  like  Braithwaite!  You  just 
watch  him!" 

"  Will  he  be  in  this  too  ?  "    She  touched  the  notes. 

"Not  if  7  am!"  said  John  Berwick  decisively. 
"There  won't  be  any  'too'  about  it !  I'm  not  in  it 
to  be  gobbled  up!  You  take  good  care  of  that!" 
He  nodded  to  her  note-book.  He  drew  down  the 
cover  of  his  desk  and  locked  it. 

"I  always  do  take  good  care,"  said  Isabel. 

"  I  know.  You  are  a  good  girl ! "  He  sat  looking 
at  her  thoughtfully,  twirling  the  watch-chain. 

"I  am  trusting  you  with  things — a  good  deal — 
for  a  young  girl,"  he  said  slowly.  "But  I  have  an 
idea  you  are  going  to  be  worth  it.  You  can  make 
a  good  woman  of  business  if  you  keep  on  the  way 


46  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

you've  begun —  Think  about  being  a  help  to  me — 
don't  get  to  having  notions  about  beaux."  He  spoke 
curtly.  Her  face  flushed  a  clear  bright  color. 

"I'm  not  thinking  about  anything — except  my 
work !"  she  said.  She  was  looking  down. 

He  watched  her  kindly.  She  glanced  up  with  a 
look  of  humor  that  twinkled  at  him. 

"But  it  isn't  just  because  I  want  to  help  you. 
I  am  interested  in  things  too.  I  like  to  see  how 
they  are  going  to  turn  out." 

"Good!"  He  slapped  his  knee  sharply.  "I 
said  you  would  make  a  good  woman  of  business! 
I  wouldn't  swap  you  for  any  man  I've  got  in  the 
works ! "  He  got  up. 

"If  I'm  late  about  getting  down  in  the  morning 
tell  Fannie  to  bring  the  file  up  to  date.  We  can't 
be  running  behind  forever."  He  nodded  to  her  curt- 
ly and  closed  the  door. 

The  girl  returned  to  her  machine.  She  would  copy 
John's  poetry  and  then  go  home. 

The  room  was  filled  with  faint  purplish  light.  The 
spring  twilight  outside  crept  in  and  the  blank  white 
walls  reflected  it  softly.  In  the  field  across  the 
road  a  robin  called  from  the  top  of  a  bare  tree. 

Isabel  could  see  the  robin  from  her  machine,  and 
she  could  see  the  twigs  against  the  faint  purple 
haze  beyond.  She  liked  the  office  after  every  one 
had  gone  home.  It  was  a  different  place.  The 
vacant  chairs  and  Fannie's  covered  machine  and  the 
bare  white  walls  seemed  to  gather  up  silence  and 
free  the  happiness  in  her.  She  yielded  to  it  un- 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  47 

consciously.  Sometimes  she  sang  a  little,  and  then 
there  was  a  curious  echo  in  the  room  as  if  the  walls 
and  chairs  and  desk  took  it  and  went  singing  with  her. 

She  copied  a  few  lines,  humming  to  herself.  The 
verses  took  shape  and  she  stopped  to  read  them 
over.  There  was  something  hi  them  she  had  not 
noticed  when  she  took  them  down.  The  lines  ran  a 
little  way  smoothly,  then  they  halted  and  broke 
off  or  went  limping  along.  .  .  . 

John  Junior's  poetry  was  like  that,  she  thought 
swiftly  with  a  smile  as  the  words  shaped  under  her 
fingers — a  little  like  John  Junior. 

She  had  never  noticed  it  before,  but  it  seemed  to 
sing  even  when  it  limped.  She  repeated  the  words 
to  herself,  half-crooning  them. 

The  door  opened.  She  looked  up  annoyed.  It 
was  John  Junior.  He  was  smiling. 

"Father  gone?"  he  asked. 

"Yes."  She  said  it  crossly.  Now  he  would  be 
silly  and  think  she  was  admiring  his  poetry.  She 
almost  despised  it  anyway.  Only  it  amused  her  to 
see  that  it  was  like  John  Junior.  He  came  over  to 
the  machine. 

"You  copying  my  poem !"  he  said  happily. 

"Yes."  She  drew  out  the  sheet  and  laid  it  down. 
He  looked  at  it  affectionately. 

"I  will  take  it  along,"  he  said. 

"It  isn't  finished." 

"Why !" 

"I  haven't  corrected  it—  There's  'bug'  for 
'but."  She  pointed  to  it  severely.  "You  don't 


48  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

want  it  like  that!—  And  there's  another  page 
besides — two  more,  I  should  think."  She  scanned 
her  notes  impersonally.  He  withdrew  stiffly. 

"Oh,  very  well."  She  listened  to  his  retreating 
steps  going  down  the  hall.  She  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 

The  room  gathered  about  her  again.  The  white 
walls  became  friendly  and  the  chairs  and  tables  re- 
laxed to  her  subtly.  She  smiled  and  inserted  a 
fresh  sheet,  humming  to  herself.  Then  she  drew 
it  out —  She  would  use  Fannie's  machine.  The 
light  was  growing  dim. 

Over  by  the  window  she  worked  swiftly.  She 
finished  the  poem  and  corrected  the  last  sheet  and 
gathered  it  up.  The  robin  was  calling  from  the  bare 
tree  and  she  looked  across  to  him.  Below,  a 
car  came  swiftly  in  sight  down  the  street.  She 
glanced  at  it  and  looked  away  and  looked  again. 
It  had  stopped  below  and  a  man  was  getting  out.  He 
wore  patent-leather  shoes  and  spats. 

Why  should  he  come  back? — John  Junior?  she 
wondered.  She  looked  down  again  swiftly  at  the 
car.  No,  his  daughter  was  not  with  him.  She  gave 
a  little  puzzled  frown.  .  .  .  The  door  downstairs  was 
locked  of  course.  He  could  not  get  in.  ...  Her 
thought  ran  ahead  of  him — shutting  him  out. 

There  was  a  quick  step  in  the  corridor.    She  got  up. 

He  opened  the  door  quickly.    He  drew  back. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!  I  did  not  think  any  one 
was  here!  ...  I  came  for  my  daughter's  scarf. 
He  looked  about  him  vaguely.  "She  dropped  it 
somewhere,"  he  murmured.  "So  I  came  for  it." 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  49 

"  Yes  ?  "  The  girl  had  not  stirred.  He  looked  at 
her.  There  was  a  little  admiration  in  the  glance. 
Behind  her  the  purple  window  showed  duskily. 

She  moved  to  the  desk  and  took  up  the 
telephone 

"I  will  ask  Miss  Blakeley  if  she  saw  it,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"Oh,  don't  trouble!"  He  went  a  step  toward 
her. 

But  she  had  called  up.  Her  ear  listened —  "  This 
is  Miss  Merton  speaking.  Berwick's  Mill —  Yes — 
in  the  office.  Is  Miss  Blakeley  there?  Thank 
you."  She  hung  up  the  receiver.  Her  hand  re- 
mained on  it  lightly. 

"I  will  ask  her  in  the  morning." 

"I  dislike  to  trouble  you,"  he  protested.  The 
admiration  in  his  eye  deepened.  .  .  .  Berwick  had 
a  very  competent  secretary — as  well  as  a  pretty  girl. 
He  wondered  what  he  paid  her.  His  eye  dropped  to 
the  locked  desk. 

"  Well,  I  thank  you.  You  are  working  very  late ! " 
He  turned  away.  He  paused. 

"If  you  are  going  home  I  shall  be  pleased  to  take 
you.  My  car  can  drop  you  anywhere  you  like." 
It  was  the  courteous  man  of  the  world  who  waited 
her  answer.  ...  He  was  not  eager — only  very 
polite  and  kind,  almost  fatherly.  She  shook  her 
head. 

"Thank  you.     I  am  not  ready  to  go  yet." 

He  withdrew  and  she  heard  his  footsteps  down  the 
corridor.  They  echoed  a  little  in  the  empty  hall. 


50  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

The  door  slammed.    The  car  rolled  smoothly  away. 

She  moved  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  She 
watched  it  speeding  out  of  sight. 

What  did  he  want  in  the  office  with  the  robin 
singing  over  there  in  the  sky —  What  had  he  hoped 
to  find  ?  His  daughter's  scarf  of  course 

She  gathered  up  her  letters  for  the  mail. 


DC 

THE  light  outside  seemed  less  dim  as  she  stepped 
from  the  mill.  Every  object  was  bathed  in  clear 
liquid  freshness — like  the  robin's  note  that  called 
and  was  silent  and  called  again.  ...  It  seized  her 
senses  as  she  looked  about  her  slowly — the  dirty 
mill,  the  fence  across  the  way,  the  mud-tracked 
road,  and  the  bare  waiting  trees.  There  was  a  still 
beauty  on  them — a  sense  of  something  about  to 
be  revealed  that  made  her  strangely  happy — It 
made  her  heart  ache  a  little. 

She  walked  slowly  toward  the  town.  The  streets 
were  deserted.  From  a  ball-ground  across  the  lots 
she  could  hear  the  boys'  voices  calling  shrilly.  .  .  . 
Supper  must  be  over.  She  hurried  a  little. 

She  turned  the  corner  and  came  suddenly  on  a 
group  of  children  gathered  about  a  lamp-post.  A 
mail-box  was  on  the  post,  and  she  dropped  in  the 
letters  she  had  copied  for  John  Berwick  and  looked 
down  at  the  group  gathered  beneath  the  lamp. 
They  were  regarding  a  child  who  stood  with  her 
back  to  the  wall  facing  them  with  indignant  half- 
tearful  eyes. 

Isabel  glanced  at  her.  She  stood  with  defiant 
feet,  short  and  straight,  her  head  held  high  and  the 
tears  dangerously  near.  The  group  tittered. 

"Oh,  my!  And  no  shoes !"—  "Sh-h-!  Maybe 
she's  poor!"—  "She's  got  a  ring!"  The  child 
slipped  her  hand  quickly  behind  her  back  and  re- 
si 


52  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

garded  them  helplessly.  "I  suppose  she  thinks  it's 
fine  to  wear  a  ring — and  no  shoes!"  The  group 
tittered  again  and  the  child  seemed  to  crouch  over 
her  bare  legs 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Isabel  sharply. 

The  group  started — as  if  to  dissolve.  Then  it 
stood  its  ground. 

"Who  is  she,  Marty?"  asked  Isabel  of  the  girl  at 
her  elbow.  She  was  a  Swede  and  she  lived  next 
door  to  Isabel. 

"/  don't  know,"  said  Marty.  She  affected  vast 
indifference.  "She's  a  new  girl,"  she  said  patron- 
izingly. '  *  We  don't  any  of  us  know  her —  Do  we?" 
She  turned  to  the  group. 

"No.  We  don't  know  her.  And  she  won't  speak 
—nor  anything!  We  haven't  done  anything  to 
her."  It  was  righteous  and  glib.  Isabel  turned  to 
the  child. 

"Who  are  you,  dear?" 

"I'm — I'm  Jenny,"  she  said.  She  stopped  sud- 
denly with  a  little  gulp  and  her  lips  closed  firmly  on 
the  word.  The  group  cast  a  look  at  Isabel — There, 
you  see ! 

Isabel  smiled  impatiently.  She  crossed  to  the 
child  and  knelt  by  her. 

"No  one  is  going  to  hurt  you,  Jenny.  Come, 
I  will  take  you  home ! "  She  held  out  her  hand  and  the 
child  seized  it.  She  cast  a  tearful  look  of  reserve  at 
the  watching  group. 

"They  won't  hurt  you,"  said  Isabel,  with  a  smile. 
"They  didn't  mean  anything !" 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  53 

"No,  we  didn't  mean  a  thing!"  echoed  Marty, 
indignant. 

"But  you  weren't  very  nice  to  her,"  said  Isabel. 
She  turned  away,  the  child's  hand  held  tight  in  hers. 

Marty  Paulsen  made  a  swift  important  move- 
ment beside  them.  She  seized  the  ungainly  flat  hat 
from  her  head  and  clapped  it  on  the  child's  curls 
with  commanding  gesture. 

"You  can  wear  my  hat !"  she  said. 

Isabel  stopped.  The  other  children  came  up. 
"Do  you  want  to  wear  it?"  said  Isabel. 

The  child  obscured  under  the  wide  flatness  blinked 
gravely.  Marty  bent  down  and  peered  at  her 
with  friendly  smile.  "You  are  all  right!"  she  said 
protectingly. 

She  had  drawn  a  soiled  handkerchief  from  her 
pocket  and  was  wiping  the  moist  eyes  and  adjusting 
the  hat  with  solicitous  touch.  "It  looks  nice  on 
you!" 

The  child  smiled  a  watery  smile  and  the  crowd 
held  its  tittering  breath  and  looked  on  in  soft  amaze- 
ment. Isabel  laughed  a  little. 

"Do  you  want  her  to  play  with  you?"  She 
turned  to  the  group. 

"Of  course  we  want  her!  We  just  asked  her 
name — and  she  wouldn't  open  her  mouth.  She 
wasn't  polite!" 

"No,  she  wasn't  polite!"  They  echoed  it  to- 
gether, looking  reproachfully  at  the  stranger.  Isabel 
bent  to  her. 

"Do  you  want  to  play  with  them?"  she  asked. 


54  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

The  child  nodded  The  face  under  the  flopping  hat 
was  important  and  grave. 

"If  they  don't  laugh  at  my  legs,"  she  said  with  a 
gulp.  "My  mother  wants  me  to  go  barefoot.  She 
says  it  makes  me  strong!"  The  children  were 
circling  close  now. 

"We  won't  laugh  at  your  legs !" 

"No —  And  you  can  wear  Marty's  hat!  Come 
on!" 

Isabel  smiled  down  on  the  grotesque  hat.  A  little 
lump  came  in  her  throat.  She  was  thinking  of  a 
child  in  a  rain-coat,  and  suddenly  she  took  the  hat 
from  her  own  head  and  was  pulling  off  a  large 
crimson  rose. 

" See !    I  will  trim  it  for  you !" 

Marty  turned  with  important  smile.  "Anybody 
got  a  pin?"  she  asked. 

"I  got  one!"—  "Here's  one!"  They  reached 
eager  pins  and  pressed  forward. 

Isabel  knelt  by  the  child  and  fastened  the  flower 
in  place.  The  child  held  her  head  stiff  and  high. 
Her  tears  were  dry.  A  smile  trembled  on  her  mouth. 

Isabel  patted  the  flower. 

"There!"  She  stood  off  and  looked  at  it.  The 
awed  group  gazed.  Isabel  nodded  assuringly. 

"It  looks  very  well.    Run  along  now !" 

"  Will  Marty  keep  it  when  she  takes  her  hat  back  ?  " 
'  Yes,  Marty  will  have  it.  But  you  must  take 
Jenny  home  first." 

"Oh,  we'll  take  her.  Come  on,  Jenny!  You 
can  play  with  us." 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  55 

They  took  hold  of  hands — a  child  on  either  side. 
Their  eyes  were  on  the  hat  admiringly.  But  they 
rested  too  on  the  child's  eyes  still  wet  with  tears. 
"  Come  on,  Jenny ! "  they  said.  "  Come  on,  Jenny ! " 
They  ran  happily  down  the  street,  the  hat  bobbing 
among  them. 

Isabel  watched  them  out  of  sight.  The  light  glim- 
mered faintly  on  her  hair.  She  held  her  hat  in  her 
hand  turning  it  and  looking  at  it  with  elusive  smile. 
She  replaced  it,  still  smiling,  the  lump  hi  her  throat. 
The  high  childish  voices  seemed  drifting  back  from 
the  day  when  the  little  rain-coat  came  and  wrapped 
her  about  and  comforted  her. 

She  walked  on  quickly.  Her  mind  was  alert. 
She  seemed  to  have  wakened  from  a  dream.  She 
felt  as  if  she  had  not  been  alive  before.  .  .  .  She 
had  never  had  a  chance  to  be  alive !  Except  for  the 
little  raincoat  there  had  been  nothing  that  was  not 
practical  and  sordid  and  sensible  in  her  life. 

Perhaps  the  child  and  the  battered  hat  had 
roused  her — or  Ellen  Braithwaite  with  her  money 
and  ill-fitting  clothes  had  touched  some  spring  of 
imagination — or  John  Junior's  poetry  had  got  into 
some  cranny  of  her  brain  and  waked  it — perhaps  the 
courteous  gray-haird  man  looking  at  her  with  admir- 
ing eyes  had  touched  a  hidden  weakness.  Or  was 
it  the  spring  and  the  robin  singing  in  the  bare  high 
tree.  .  .  .  There  were  other  things  in  life  than 
bobbins  and  spindles  and  typewritten  pages  and 
John  Senior  and  his  business  woman. 

She  made  a  little  face  at   the  business  woman 


56  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

and  sped  along  the  street.  Then  she  stopped — in 
dismay.  Was  she  going  to  cry  ?  .  .  .  Never !  She 
was  only  going  to  be  a  girl — like  other  girls — girls 
all  over  the  world.  They  wore  pretty  clothes  and 
laughed  and  danced  in  the  springtime.  Her  feet 
went  tripping  in  gay  little  steps  and  her  heart 
tripped  with  them  in  lightness. 


X 

SHE  opened  the  door  into  the  shabby  room — 
The  same  dish-towels  on  the  line  behind  the  stove, 
and  the  same  apron  on  the  same  nail  beside  it.  But 
the  room  seemed  trying  to  look  different  to-night  as 
she  stood  in  the  doorway  regarding  it.  She  won- 
dered what  it  was.  It  seemed  suddenly  meaner  and 
smaller,  but  there  was  a  hidden  meaning  behind  the 
shabby  comfort. 

She  passed  quickly  through  into  the  sitting-room. 
Her  mother  was  darning  a  table-cloth.  And  be- 
side her,  his  elbow  spread  on  the  table  and  his  fingers 
over  his  ears,  a  boy  was  studying  from  a  wide  flat 
book.  He  was  muttering  words  in  a  monotonous, 
meaningless  tone.  He  peered  up  from  between  his 
fingers  at  her. 

"You're  late,  Sis !"  he  said  practically. 

Her  mother  looked  up.  There  was  a  little  queru- 
lous anxious  line  between  her  eyes. 

"Where  have  you  been  so  late?"  she  asked. 

"Just  working,"  said  Isabel.  "Did  you  save  sup- 
per for  me?" 

"Yes.  It's  in  the  oven."  She  put  down  her 
work. 

"Don't  come !  I'll  get  it ! "  But  her  mother  fol- 
lowed her  to  the  kitchen  and  opened  the  oven  door. 
A  savory  smell  swept  out  and  filled  the  room. 

The  girl  sniffed  it.     "Doesn't  it  smell  good !"  she 

57 


58  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

said  happily.  The  mother  placed  it  on  the  table 
and  her  face  puckered  in  a  dose  reluctant  smile. 

"It  isn't  anything — not  much — just  potato  and 
onion  and  a  taste  of  macaroni  and  tomato  in  it.  .  .  . 
But  your  father  said  it  tasted  good." 

"  My !-  But  I'm  hungry ! "  The  girl  threw  her 
hat  on  the  chair  near  by. 

Her  mother  brought  her  work  from  the  next  room, 
drawing  the  lamp  to  the  edge  of  the  table  and  turn- 
ing it  up  a  little.  Isabel  ate  in  silence.  Her  mother 
looked  over  to  her. 

"What  made  you  so  late,  Bel?" 

"I  did  some  copying — after  hours."  The  woman 
held  up  her  needle  and  threaded  it  against  the  light. 

"Seems  to  me  they  work  you  pretty  hard  lately." 
She  was  squinting  at  the  needle  and  drawing  the 
thread  through  into  place.  "This  is  the  third  time 
this  month,  isn't  it?" 

"I  like  to  work,"  said  the  girl.  "I  don't  mind." 
She  was  looking  at  her  mother's  shabby  clean  dress 
and  the  little  parting  in  her  gray  hair.  The  hair 
was  thin  and  the  grayness  was  turning  a  dull  white. 
The  hands  knotting  the  thread  were  rough.  The 
knuckles  shone  faintly  red. 

Isabel's  eyes  dwelt  on  the  rough  worn  hands  as 
they  hovered  above  the  patch.  "Nobody  minds 
working!"  she  said  swiftly.  "It's  being  poor  that 
hurts — being  poor  and  ugly  and  never  having 
things!"  She  threw  out  her  hands.  Her  mother 
leaned  forward,  peering  at  her  past  the  lamp. 

"I  guess  you  are  tired  out !"  she  said. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  59 

"  I'm  not  the  least  bit  tired ! "  said  Isabel.  "  I  feel 
like  dancing  and  singing  .  .  .  and  new  clothes !" 

Her  mother  sank  back  with  a  quick  little  sigh. 
She  picked  up  her  work  and  sewed  a  few  stitches. 
"  Coal  is  twelve-fifty  a  ton,"  she  said  after  a  pause, 
"and  they  say  it's  going  higher." 

"I  must  earn  more  money,"  said  the  girl  thought- 
fully. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  work  any  harder!"  Her 
mother's  voice  was  quick.  "It  isn't  right!  We 
can  get  along  somehow." 

"/  can't!"  said  the  girl  softly.  "I  don't  wonder 
girls  go  wrong,"  she  added  quietly. 

Her  mother  leaned  forward  in  quick  dismay 

"Isabel!"  she  said  reprovingly. 

The  girl  nodded.  "We  need  pretty  things — just 
as  much  as  flowers  need  color  and  sweet  smells  and 
pretty  shapes."  .  .  .  She  seemed  to  be  thinking  of 
it—  "They  must  have  got  them  somehow!"  she 
said  slowly. 

"  God  made  them  that  way,"  said  the  older  woman 
piously.  She  was  sewing  fast  now. 

"Well  He  made  me  that  way  too!    He  didn't 

mean  I  should  go  around  looking  like  a  last  year's 

rag-bag,  did  He ! "    Her  eye  fell  on  the  shabby  hat 

i  and  she  reached  to  it  and  held  it  at  arm's  length 

"Look  at  that!" 

"It  doesn't  look  very  stylish,"  admitted  her 
mother.  Then  her  gaze  quickened. 

"Why,  where  is  your  rose?" 

"I  gave  it  away,"  said  Isabel. 


60  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Gave — ?"  faltered  her  mother.  Her  hands 
dropped  to  her  lap.  Isabel  nodded. 

"I  found  somebody  that  needed  it— more  than  I 
did.  So  I  gave  it  to  her.  ...  I  don't  think  my- 
self it  looks  much  worse  than  it  did  before — "  She 
held  it  off  and  turned  it  and  surveyed  it. 

"Maybe  it  don't,"  said  her  mother  doubtfully. 
| "But  the  rose  looked  as  if  you  had  tried  to  be 
!  decent." 

"That's  just  it!"  Isabel  laughed  out.  "—as  if 
I  had  tried —  Well,  next  time  I  am  going  to  try  and 
I'm  going  to  succeed  too ! "  She  got  up.  She  stood 
very  still  and  straight  gazing  about  the  room.  A 
little  smile  was  on  her  lip. 

Her  mother  looked  up  at  her  perplexed. 

"I  don't  know  what's  got  into  you,  Bel !"  she  said 
soothingly. 

"I'm  different — and  I'm  going  to  look  different !" 

The  mother's  gaze  had  a  little  pride  in  it.  She 
looked  at  her  work  and  fingered  it  awkwardly. 

"I  have  never  said  anything,  Bel.  I  don't  want 
to  make  you  conceited — and  we  hadn't  ought  to 
think  too  much  about  looks — "  She  hurried  on  as 
if  afraid  of  herself  and  her  words.  "But  you  always 
look  nice.  There  isn't  any  girl  in  Hanover  that's 
better  looking  than  you  are !" 

The  girl  laughed  out  happily.  "But  I  don't  look 
stylish — do  I,  mother ! " 

"No — not  stylish  exactly.  There  isn't  much  style 
in  Hanover,  I  guess." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  there  was !    Why,  in  the  movies 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  61 

and  the  magazines  no  girl  would  wear  a  dress  like 
this ! "  She  held  it  out  on  either  side,  spreading  the 
wide  skirt  and  dancing  a  step  or  two.  "  They  always 
wear  something  pretty — and  different  in  the  movies — 
Make  you  wonder  what's  coming  next !  And  when 
the  war  began  they  had  military  things,  snug  and 
smart,  and  you  felt  as  if  you  had  to  put  your  hands 
in  your  pockets  and  march —  '  One-two,  One-two ! ' 
little  short  steps,  you  know,  on  parade."  She 
marched  across  the  room  keeping  time  to  her  words, 
and  her  mother's  eyes  followed  her  wondering. 

"I  don't  know  where  you  ever  got  such  notions," 
she  murmured. 

"I  didn't  get  them.  They  were  born  hi  me.  You 
gave  'em  to  me!"  She  stood  by  the  table  looking 
down  and  smiling.  The  mother  shook  her  head. 

"I  never  gave  you  any  such  notions.  In  my  time 
we  had  Sunday  clothes — the  things  we  wore  just 
Sundays,"  she  explained  as  if  from  another  world. 

"I  know—  The  way  you  are  always  trying  to 
have  me  do!  No  use—  They'd  be  out  of  style 
before  you'd  done  a  month  of  Sundays  with  them ! " 
She  laughed  quietly. 

"I  want  some  new  clothes  such  as  movie  girls 
wear.  ...  I  don't  want  to  see  'em  just  in  movies 
any  longer  and  know  other  girls  have  them.  I  want 
some  my  sen"!"  There  was  a  flush  in  her  cheeks 
and  her  voice  had  a  quick  eager  note. 

"I'm  sick  of  the  movies!"  she  said  swiftly.  "I 
don't  want  to  go  there  and  sit  like  a  bump  on  a  log 
looking  at  them !  I  want  to  be  a  movie — on  the  move 


62  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

myself!  I  feel  little  dances  in  my  feet  and  little 
tunes  in  my  head ! " 

Her  voice  had  reached  to  the  boy  in  the  next 
room.  He  was  in  the  doorway,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  looking  at  her  admiringly 

"You've  got  a  whole  set  of  chimes  in  your  head, 
Sissie — regl'r  belfry!"  he  laughed.  "No  bats  in  it, 
though!"  He  brought  his  geography  to  the  table 
and  sat  down  with  another  admiring  glance  at  the 
girl  and  a  hesitating  one  at  his  mother. 

But  the  mother  paid  no  attention.  Her  puzzled 
gaze  was  on  the  shining  girl.  She  had  moved  to  the 
table  and  leaned  over  the  boy,  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"What  are  you  studying,  Jim?" 

"Joggerfy.  We've  got  Paris  to-morrow.  Names 
— something  fierce.  Look  at  that ! " 

"I  see!"  She  bent  nearer.  "Paris  is  wonder- 
ful!" she  said  under  her  breath,  leaning  on  his 
shoulder.  He  looked  up. 

"Now  what  d'you  know  about  that !"  he  retorted. 
There  was  a  grin  on  his  round  face. 

"In  the  movies — don't  you  remember,  Jim — when 
I  took  you  ?  Pretty  dresses —  Even  in  the  war  they 
wore  them.  .  .  ." 

"You  mean  that  flying-machine  film?"  he  de- 
manded, "and  the  tanks?" 

"Yes-s,"  she  admitted. 

"7  didn't  notice  their  clothes,"  scornfully.  "They 
might  'a'  had  nothing  on — for  all  me !" 

"James !"  said  his  mother.    He  grinned. 

The  girl's  eyes  had  a  quick  light  in  them.    "They 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  63 

seem  to  grow  pretty  things,"  she  said,  "the  way 
the  flowers  do,  and  they  look  as  if  they  belonged — 
not  just  put  on.  French  women  are  so  beautiful !" 
She  said  it  wistfully.  Her  mother's  disapproving 
gaze  turned  to  the  map. 

"Better  be  good  than  stylish !"  she  said  coldly. 

"Why  can't  you  be  good — and  stylish  too?" 
The  girl  turned  a  little  quick  look  at  her,  sitting  dully 
beside  the  lamp. 

"They  never  are !"  said  her  mother. 

"  Well—  I'm  going  to  be ! "  She  said  it  defiantly 
—a  declaration  of  war,  or  faith.  Then  the  color 
leaped  up  again  in  her  face. 

' '  B  ully  for  you,  Sis ! "  The  boy  was  making  marks 
on  the  side  of  his  map.  He  looked  up  at  her  shyly. 
The  mother  reached  a  hand  to  his  pencil  and  stopped 
it. 

"You  go  right  off  to  bed,  Jim."  He  obeyed  re- 
luctantly, closing  his  book  with  a  little  slam  and 
stopping  at  the  faucet  for  a  drink  of  water.  It  took 
him  a  long  time,  gazing  over  the  rim  of  the  cup  as  he 
drank. 

"Run  along !"  said  his  mother. 

"G'night !"  he  responded,  and  the  door  slammed 
behind  his  scurrying  heels. 

The  room  was  still. 


XI 

THE  girl  went  into  the  sitting-room  and  the  mother 
sat  alone  gazing  before  her.  Now  and  then  she 
sighed — hardly  more  than  a  breath  repressed.  After 
a  minute  she  took  the  lamp  and  opened  the  door  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  went  up. 

The  girl  coming  back  to  the  kitchen  found  it  dark. 
She  stood  looking  about  the  dim  room  with  the 
chinks  of  light  from  the  stove,  and  again  the  feeling 
of  homely  comfort  stole  over  her.  She  brought  the 
light  from  the  other  room,  she  would  wash  the 
dishes  she  had  used. 

The  door  from  the  stairs  opened.  Her  mother 
stood  in  it,  the  light  of  the  lamp  shining  up  on  her 
dull  face  and  falling  on  a  pile  of  loose  silky  stuff  she 
carried  on  her  arm.  It  trailed  down  her  skirt  and 
she  gathered  it  up  as  she  set  the  light  on  the  table. 

The  girl  was  looking  at  it  wonderingly. 

"It's  my  wedding  dress,"  said  her  mother,  smooth- 
ing it.  I  have  had  it  put  away  a  good  while.  The 
breadths  are  good.  She  held  one  up  to  the  light. 
It  glowed  softly  through  the  sheer  transparent 
texture  of  the  silk. 

"You  see — not  a  break  or  tear  in  it  anywhere!" 
She  spread  it  out  lovingly. 

The  girl's  eyes  regarded  it  gravely. 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  such  a  pretty  wedding 
dress!" 

64 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  65 

"  I've  had  it  put  away  a  good  many  years.  I  want 
you  should  take  it  and  make  it  up."  The  girl  sat 
down.  She  shook  her  head. 

"You're  awfully  good,  mother — but  it  isn't  what 
I  want.  ...  I  want  bright  things — something  with 
a  lilt  and  style  to  it!"  She  was  fingering  the 
silk. 

"A  lilt — !"  said  her  mother  vaguely.  Her  eyes 
stared,  perplexed. 

Isabel  laughed  and  nodded.  "  Something  that  has 
color — life !  This  is  so  dull  and  sweet,  mother — like 
you ! "  She  stroked  it  softly. 

The  woman's  face  flushed.  She  looked  down 
at  the  silk.  "We  could  dye  it?"  she  said  question- 
ingly.  "You  wouldn't  mind  having  it  dyed — if  it 
was  a  pretty  color,  would  you?"  She  was  groping, 
reaching  with  invisible  hands  from  the  past  to  her 
child. 

The  girl's  face  lighted  swiftly.  "That's  a  great 
idea!  Could  you?"  There  was  quiet  pride  in  her 
mother's  face. 

"I  can  do  it  so'st  you'd  never  know  the  difference 
—with  these  new  dyes.  And  it  doesn't  hurt  the 
goods  either — not  a  mite.  I  wouldn't  want  to  spoil 
the  silk.  You  see  how  soft  it  is  and  heavy — and  how 
nice  it  falls!" 

"It's  lovely!"  said  the  girl.  "I  didn't  suppose 
you  had  anything  like  it,  ever!"  The  mother's 
pride  deepened.  She  took  a  little  parcel  from  the 
curve  in  her  arm. 

"And  this  was  my  scarf  I  wore—       She  lifted  a 


66  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

corner  of  the  delicate  stuff  and  it  floated  free.    The 
girl  caught  it  in  both  hands. 

"Why,  it  is  beautiful !"  she  said.  "And  in  a  dif- 
ferent color — it  would  be — "  She  broke  off,  seeming 
to  see  its  brightness  before  her. 

"I  had  a  little  bonnet  with  a  wreath  that  went 
with  'em,"  said  the  mother  wistfully.  "But  that's 
gone  long  ago ! "  The  girl  came  from  her  dream  and 
laughed. 

"I  couldn't  wear  your  bonnet,  mother.  But  I 
can  make  something  lovely  of  these"-  She 
smoothed  them  a  little.  "Only  you  wouldn't  want 
the  scarf  dyed,  would  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do  with  it.  It  isn't  any 
use  to  me — only  to  bury  me  in,"  she  added. 

"Mother!"  the  girl  chided. 

"Yes —  I  know.  ...  I  hadn't  ought  to  say 
that !  Only  seeing  them  brought  things  back  to  me 
— and  how  happy  I  thought  I  was  going  to  be."  She 
stared  at  them  a  minute. 

The  girl  was  silent.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her 
before  that  her  mother  was  ever  young.  .  .  .  Her 
thought  followed  it. 

"How  old  were  you,  mother — when  you  and  father 
were  married  ?  " 

"I  was  nineteen — going  on  twenty,"  said  her 
mother.  "Twenty  that  fall,  and  we  were  married 
in  July." 

"I  wonder  how  you  ever  got  acquainted?"  said 
the  girl  musingly.  Her  fingers  were  touching  the 
silk  softly. 

"Got   acquainted — ?"    The  mother's   face   was 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  67 

puzzled.  "Why,  we  always  knew  each  other.  His 
family  lived  the  other  side  of  the  town,  but  we  went 
to  school  together." 

"He  didn't  propose  to  you  in  school,  did  he !" 

Her  mother  laughed  out  and  her  face  woke  to  the 
glow  of  remembrance. 

"No,  there  wasn't  any  foolishness  then.  But 
when  we  got  older  he  walked  home  from  prayer- 
meeting  with  me  'most  every  week.  And  then  we 
used  to  have  church  socials  once  in  a  while."  She 
mused  on  it. 

"Church  sociables,"  murmured  the  girl.  "We 
don't  have  anything  like  that  now." 

"No — they're  kind  of  gone  by,  I  guess.  .  .  .  You 
have  the  movies."  She  said  it  without  irony. 
Church  sociables  and  movies  were  natural  phe- 
nomena. Human  beings  did  not  make  them  or 
criticise.  They  accepted  them  with  the  rain  and 
snow  and  the  sun  and  growing  things  in  the 
world. 

"I  remember  we  had  a  church  picnic  once,  too," 
she  went  on.  She  sighed  a  breath. 

"Your  father  was  a  good  deal  different  then," 
she  added  quietly. 

A  step  sounded  outside  the  door.  She  half- 
crouched  to  the  silk  as  if  to  protect  it.  Then  she 
stood  up. 

The  man  who  opened  the  door  was  thick-set,  with 
a  dull  face  and  heavy  hands  and  feet.  He  hung  his 
cap  on  a  nail  by  the  door  and  came  over  to  the  table. 
He  looked  curiously  at  the  silk  and  at  the  scarf  in 
Isabel's  hands. 


68  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Been  buying  finery,  have  you?"  he  grunted. 
His  tone  was  gruff. 

"It's  my  wedding  dress,"  said  the  wife  quickly. 

"  Oh ! "    He  regarded  them  without  interest. 

"Mother  has  given  them  to  me,"  said  Isabel. 
"I'm  going  to  have  it  made  up." 

He  touched  the  silk  with  his  finger — as  if  it  were 
miles  away.  "Think  you'll  catch  a  beau,  I  sup- 
pose ! "  He  laughed  lightly.  She  flushed. 

"I  don't  want  a  beau — "  she  flashed  out.  "I 
want  to  be  like  other  girls ! " 

He  stared  at  her.  "Well,  ain't  you — like  other 
girls  ?  I  don't  see  but  what  you  look  about  like  the 
rest  of  'em."  He  turned  away. 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do — if  it  don't  cost  money. 
I  can  tell  you  there  is  no  money  in  the  drug-business 
to  buy  flum-a-diddles ! "  He  went  toward  the 
sitting-room. 

"There  isn't  any  lamp  in  there,"  said  the  wife. 

"I  don't  want  a  light,"  he  replied  glumly.  The 
woman  gathered  up  the  silk.  She  motioned  to  Isabel 
with  her  lips. 

"You  take  the  light  in,"  she  said.  The  girl  took 
up  the  lamp  and  carried  it  to  the  next  room.  He 
was  groping  in  a  closet  for  his  slippers.  He  found 
them  and  shuffled  across  to  the  table.  He  looked 
gruffly  at  the  girl's  shining  face. 

"I'm  not  going  to  ask  you  for  money!"  she  said 
crisply.  "It  isn't  likely — when  I  pay  board  to 
mother  and  give  her  all  I  earn  beside!"  She 
faced  him,  a  little  indignant. 

"  Well-well !    I  didn't  mean  anything.     I've  just 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  69 

been  going  over  things  before  I  came  home,  and  I 
can  tell  you  things  look  pretty  blue."  He  sighed  and 
took  up  a  paper  indifferently. 

She  stood  with  both  hands  on  the  table  gazing  at 
him. 

"  Why  don't  you  sell  out  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Sell  out ! — "  He  looked  at  her  sharply  over  the 
paper.  "How  would  I  make  a  living  I  if  sold  out ? " 
She  did  not  remind  him  that  there  was  never  any 
profit  from  the  store.  She  was  making  straight  for  a 
point. 

"You  could  work  in  the  mill.  They're  short  of 
hands  and  they're  paying  five  dollars  now —  Some 
of  them  get  five." 

"I've  never  done  that  sort  of  work  "^  he  said 
shortly. 

"It's  easy,  they  say." 

"I  don't  want  any  man  boss  over  me !" 

"I  should  think  you  would  rather  work  for  a  boss 
than  be  in  debt  all  the  time !"  she  ventured. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't!"  He  shook  the  paper  de- 
cisively. 

"And  have  mother  have  to  save  and  pinch  so " 

He  glared  at  her.  "You  don't  know  what  you're 
talking  about!"  he  said  gruffly.  "You  get  your 
flum-a-diddles  if  you  want  to — if  you've  got  money 
to  burn—  Only  don't  ask  me  for  it ! " 

He  breathed  heavily. 

She  turned  away. 

She  heard  him  muttering  a  little  as  she  went  from 
the  room. 


XII 

THE  main  street  of  Hanover  had  two  churches, 
Baptist  and  Congregational,  a  fire-engine  house  and 
three  stores.  Over  one  of  the  stores  was  a  movie- 
hall.  Town-meetings  were  held  hi  the  upper  room  of 
the  school-house  on  a  side  street.  The  offices  of  the 
two  doctors  and  a  dentist  were  in  then*  own  homes. 
There  was  no  lawyer  in  Hanover.  All  legal  business 
as  well  as  banking  went  to  Camden.  Forty  years 
ago  Hanover  was  a  prosperous  community — a  centre 
in  itself.  But  farming  declined.  The  farms  about 
Hanover  were  sold  or  rented  to  foreigners,  Greeks 
and  "Polanders."  The  young  men  went  to  the  city 
or  they  went  West  and  bought  ranches  and  larger 
farms.  Business  shifted  to  Camden,  where  several 
factories  sprang  up.  The  native  population  of  Han- 
over moved  nearer  the  centre.  They  had  no  con- 
nection with  the  foreign  element.  They  lived  on 
each  other  in  precarious  fashion  or  drew  their  small 
sums  of  interest  from  Camden  banks.  If  no  one  was 
rich  no  one  was  poor.  They  heard  vaguely  of 
poverty  in  congested  centres.  But  in  Hanover 
every  one  was  "comfortably  off." 

The  social  life  of  the  town  centred  in  the  church. 
The  girls  as  they  grew  up  learned  to  cook  and  sew. 
They  married  early  and  if  they  were  not  content  no 
one  knew  of  it.  Neighbors  "ran  in,"  to  borrow  or  to 
gossip.  But  no  one  discussed  her  own  affairs  out- 

70 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  71 

side  the  lamily.  There  was  a  polite  assumption  that 
all  respectable  people  were  happy.  If  they  were  not 
happy  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  about  it.  The 
faces  that  gathered  in  church  each  Sunday  grew  a 
little  more  dull  and  inactive  and  purposeless.  They 
were  traced  with  meaningless  lines. 

Then  one  day  John  Berwick  returned  to  the  town 
where  he  had  lived  as  a  boy.  He  brought  back  his 
money  to  Hanover.  He  built  a  factory  just  outside 
the  centre,  and  built  a  beautiful  house  on  the  hill 
overlooking  the  town.  He  furnished  it  with  grand 
furniture  and  brought  his  wife  and  two  children  to 
live  in  it. 

The  house  on  the  hill  made  little  difference  in  the 
town.  From  the  first  the  wife  had  seemed  out  of 
place  in  Hanover.  She  had  been  brought  up  hi 
different  circumstances  and  they  regarded  her  as 
different.  It  was  reported  that  she  read  aloud  to 
the  boy,  poetry  for  the  most  part,  and  there  was  a 
grand  piano. 

The  dignified  graceful  figure  and  the  two  children 
beside  it  driving  through  the  town  became  an  ac- 
customed sight.  She  was  cordial  to  those  she  met 
on  the  street  or  in  church,  but  she  seemed  to  have 
nothing  in  common  with  them  and  gradually  she  was 
left  to  herself.  Her  coming  made  no  change  in  the 
life  of  Hanover. 

It  was  the  factory  John  Berwick  built  just  outside 
the  centre  of  the  town  that  brought  the  change. 
It  offered  employment  to  the  town  and  the  town 
accepted  it — as  uncritically  as  it  accepted  all  events 


72  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

that  touched  it  from  the  outside.  Within  five  years 
the  centre  of  the  life  of  Hanover  shifted  to  the  silk 
mill.  Every  family  had  at  least  one  member  work- 
ing in  it,  and  in  some  cases  whole  families  were  on 
the  pay-roll.  .  .  .  The  church  was  regarded  a 
little  patronizingly  now.  Families  slept  late  on  Sun- 
day morning.  Many  of  them  no  longer  went  to  the 
morning  service.  The  evening  service  had  been 
given  up.  The  prayer-meeting  was  attended  by  a 
handful  of  older  people,  most  of  them  women  who 
had  a  lifelong  Thursday-evening  habit  and  would 
have  been  lost  without  it. 

The  young  people  went  to  the  movies  or  strolled 
slowly  up  the  street,  or  they  sat  on  the  steps  and 
talked  and  leaned  over  the  fence  a  little  while  and 
then  went  to  bed. 

Even  the  war  did  not  stir  the  quiet  droning  exist- 
ence of  the  town.  A  few  of  the  younger  men  were 
drafted  and  went  away.  There  was  sporadic  knit- 
ting of  sweaters  and  socks —  Pictures  of  battles 
passec^  before  them  on  the  screen,  but  it  was  all  too 
far  away  to  touch  Hanover — and  Hanover  was  too 
steeped  in  slumber  to  be  roused  by  the  noise  of  can- 
non. 

They  spent  their  money  for  the  movies  and  for 
candy,  but  for  little  else  except  food  and  simple 
clothes.  There  was  no  rivalry  in  the  clothes  or  in  the 
house  furnishings.  Every  one  knew  what  every  one 
else  earned  and  just  how  much  money  his  father  had 
left  him.  There  was  no  use  trying  to  impress  people 
who  knew  all  about  you  already.  Much  of  the 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  73' 

money  on  the  Berwick  pay-roll  went  into  the  banks 
at  Camden. 

The  stores  did  a  spasmodic  business  hi  the  spring 
and  fall,  but  most  of  the  trade  went  to  Camden  or 
to  mail-order  houses. 

The  drug-store,  the  one  place  where  competition 
with  Camden  might  have  held  its  own,  was  the  poor- 
est in  town.  The  stock  was  dusty  and  shopworn. 
Since  there  was  no  certainty  of  finding  what  one 
wanted,  the  doctors  renewed  an  old  custom  of  filling 
prescriptions  instead  of  sending  them  to  Merton's 
store. 

This  arrangement  suited  both  patient  and  doctor, 
and  if  Aaron  Merton  resented  it  no  one  knew  or 
cared.  He  seemed  to  belong  to  the  past — like  the 
drugs  on  his  shelves. 

His  family  ceased  to  look  to  the  store  for  income. 
They  regarded  it  for  the  most  part  as  a  place  where 
Aaron  went  in  the  morning  and  returned  from  at 
night.  There  was  a  back-room  where  he  sat  most 
of  the  time  with  a  few  old  cronies,  emerging  only 
when  the  bell  from  the  door  jangled.  Isabel 
was  ashaired  of  the  back-room.  Her  father  was 
never  intoxicated,  but  he  was  often  surly  and  always 
wrapped  in  a  daze  or  half-stupor  that  seemed  to  her 
acute  senses  maudlin. 

The  family  lived  on  the  ten  dollars  a  week  she 
earned  in  the  office,  eked  out  sometimes  by  a  cut  of 
meat  her  father  brought  home,  when  he  was  hungry, 
or  by  something  from  the  stock  on  the  shelves  in 
the  store.  She  did  not  resent  this  use  of  her  money 


74  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

for  tne  family  support.  She  accepted  it  as  uncritic- 
ally as  Hanover  accepted  the  silk  mill  and  John  Ber- 
wick's domination  of  the  town.  She  did  not  resent 
her  father's  incompetency — only  for  the  faint  feel- 
ing of  shame  she  associated  with  the  back-room 
and  the  men  gathered  there.  She  had  a  dim  memory 
of  her  father  when  he  was  different  and  when  things 
at  home  were  different. 

She  came  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning 
after  his  rebuff  of  her  plans,  with  a  vague  feeling  of 
relief  that  he  was  not  there.  She  wanted  to  talk 
with  her  mother  about  the  dress. 

She  had  fallen  asleep  with  happy  visions  of  it 
floating  before  her,  and  it  had  played  in  and  out 
through  her  dreams. 

The  kitchen  was  empty  when  she  came  in,  but 
there  was  a  fire  in  the  stove  and  the  coffee-pot  was 
standing  on  the  back.  She  poured  herself  a  cup  and 
sat  down. 

The  sun  was  just  coming  up,  and  the  shrubs  and 
trees  in  the  yard  had  a  fresh  misty  look  in  the  grow- 
ing light. 

A  figure  hurried  along  by  the  fence  as  she  looked 
out.  ...  It  was  her  mother  hurrying  with  her 
shoulders  a  little  shrugged  up  and  something  in  her 
hand. 

She  came  in  quickly  out  of  the  freshness,  breathing 
a  little  fast. 

"I  ran  over  to  Mis'  Stillman's  to  borrow  her  color 
card."  She  took  the  card  from  beneath  her  cape 
and  the  girl's  eyes  lighted  up.  Her  mother  handed 
it  to  her 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  75 

"Here,  you  take  it  while  I  dish  things  up  for  you. 
I  warmed  up  the  potato  and  a  little  of  that  cold  fish 
we  had."  She  threw  off  the  cape  and  bustled  about 
the  stove.  Her  face  was  almost  alert  as  she  took  up 
the  food  and  brought  it  to  the  table. 

"  There  was  a  kind  of  blue  there,  I  sort  of  liked —  ?  " 
She  leaned  over. 

"This  one?" 

The  two  heads  bent  to  the  card.  The  mother's 
finger  ran  along  the  bright  blocks 

"No — that  one  higher  up.  I  thought  it  would  be 
nice  for  the  scarf." 

The  girl  held  it  off  and  looked  at  it  with  half -closed 
eyes.  " I  believe  it  would !"  she  said  softly.  "It's 
nice!-  Will  it  really  look  like  that?"  She  re- 
garded it  doubtfully. 

"Oh,  yes — these  new  dyes!  Mis'  Stillman  dyed 
a  dress  for  Gerty — one  of  her  old  ones — and  she  put 
a  piece  of  the  goods  on  the  card  to  show  me.  You 
couldn't  'a'  told  the  difference  hardly — only  of 
course  the  card's  shiny." 

"It's  lovely !"  said  the  girl.  "How  soon  can  you 
doit?" 

"Right  off.  I'm  going  to  send  over  to  Camden 
for  the  dyes  to-day." 

"Father  doesn't  keep  them,  I  suppose?" 

"No—  He  don't  like  to  bother,"  he  says.  She 
breathed  a  half  sigh. 

The  girl  got  up  and  reached  for  her  hat.  "Has  he 
gone  to  the  store?" 

Her  mother  glanced  quickly  at  the  clock. 


76  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"No,  he's  sleeping  over.    I'll  have  to  call  him,  I 


guess— 

The  girl  turned  her  hat  on  her  hand,  looking  at  it 
with  a  slow  smile.  "I'll  just  have  to  get  another, 
won't  II"  She  placed  it  on  her  head  and  her 
mother  regarded  it  with  disapproving  gaze. 

"It's  awful  without  any  flowers!  Here,  let  me 
take  it ! "  She  seized  it  in  quick  fingers  and  searched 
in  a  drawer  of  pieces  and  drew  out  a  band  of  velvet. 
Her  fingers  trembled  a  little  as  she  pulled  off  the 
tumbled  silk  and  wound  the  velvet  about  the  crown 
and  knotted  it  at  the  side. 

"There!  That's  better  anyway!"  She  held  it 
off. 

"You're  certainly  clever,  mother!  I  never  knew 
you  could  do  anything  like  that."  She  placed  it 
on  her  head  and  her  mother  gazed  at  it  intently. 

"  It's  better  anyway ! "    She  said  with  satisfaction. 

"I  should  think  so!"  laughed  Isabel.  "But  I'm 
going  to  have  a  new  one,  you  know!"  And  she 
stepped  out  into  the  sunshine  with  it  in  her  heart. 
She  was  going  to  have  pretty  clothes  and  be  like 
other  girls ! 

She  did  not  question  it  or  wonder.  .  .  .  The 
world  all  about  her  was  fresh  with  life.  The  sap  was 
creeping  up  from  the  ground  filling  the  trees,  and 
buds  and  blossoms  in  their  folded  cups  in  the  dark 
were  groping  vaguely  toward  the  light. 


XIII 

THERE  was  no  one  in  the  office  when  she  came  in, 
and  she  opened  her  note-book  and  began  to  copy 
swiftly.  She  would  have  it  ready  for  John  Senior 
when  he  came. 

Only  a  line  or  two  remained  to  be  written. 

The  machine  gave  a  long  sharp  br-r-r  and  re- 
mained motionless.  She  got  up  and  went  around 
behind  it  and  peered  up —  A  broken  carriage-tape ! 

She  moved  the  machine  to  the  table  and  brought 
another  from  the  inner  office.  She  gave  it  a  little  pat 
of  satisfaction  as  she  set  it  in  place.  It  was  a  better 
machine  than  the  one  she  had  been  using  and  the 
type  was  different. 

She  took  the  copied  sheets  and  tore  them  across 
and  threw  them  in  the  waste-basket  before  she  in- 
serted fresh  sheets  and  carbon  and  set  to  work  with 
flying  fingers. 

Fannie  came  in  and  passed  to  her  desk,  and 
presently  her  machine  joined  in  the  clatter. 

When  John  Senior  arrived  the  finished  letter  lay 
at  Isabel's  elbow.  She  took  up  the  two  copies  and 
placed  them  on  his  desk  and  returned  to  her  machine. 

John  Senior  read  the  letter  through  and  signed  it 
and  sealed  and  stamped  it.  He  laid  it  on  the  desk 
beside  him.  Then  he  glanced  at  Fannie —  He 
seemed  to  consider  a  minute.  He  reached  for  a 


78  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

special-delivery  stamp  and  affixed  it,  speaking  over 
his  shoulder 

"See  here,  Fannie,  I  want  you  to  take  this  over 
to  Camden  for  me.  The  car  is  down  at  the  door. 
You'll  catch  the  ten-thirty  if  you  go  right  off.  Tell 
Sturgis  to  drive  you  straight  to  the  Camden  post- 
office." 

She  got  up  with  a  grimace  of  pleasure  and  went 
to  the  closet,  casting  a  look  of  triumph  at  Isabel  as 
she  passed.  John  Senior  handed  her  the  letter. 

"You'll  have  to  hustle ! "  he  said.  They  heard  her 
high  heels  clattering  down  the  hall.  The  room  was 
silent  again. 

John  Senior  gathered  a  handful  of  letters  and  made 
notes  and  summoned  Isabel. 

"Might  as  well  get  these  out  of  the  way,"  he  said. 

She  came  over  and  seated  herself.  He  dictated 
swiftly  for  a  few  minutes.  He  took  up  the  last  letter 
on  the  pile  and  scowled  at  it  and  seemed  to  search 
for  words — and  tossed  it  to  her. 

"You  fix  that  up.  Tell  'em  I  won't  stand  for 
any  more  damn  nonsense!"  She  received  it  in 
silence  and  made  a  note.  She  glanced  at  John  Senior. 
He  was  gazing  with  satisfaction  at  his  cleared  desk. 
She  hesitated  a  second 

"I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  something — if 
you're  not  too  busy?" 

"Fire  away !"  he  granted  carelessly. 

"It's  about  my  pay—  I've  got  to  have  more 
money."  He  turned.  He  was  staring  at  her. 

"I  mean  I  need  more,"  she  hurried  on.  His 
mouth  tightened.  He  was  gazing  down  at  his  finger- 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  79 

nails.  ...  It  was  the  first  time  such  a  thing  had 
ever  happened  in  Berwick's  Mill—  And  from 
Isabel  I  If  the  desk  under  his  tight  fingers  had 
risen  up  and  demanded  more  pay  he  could  not  have 
been  more  astonished. 

"What  do  you  want  it  for?"  he  demanded.  She 
flushed  a  little. 

"I  need  it,"  she  repeated. 

"You  said  that  before—     What  for ? " 

The  flush  deepened.  "I  need  a — a  new  hat!" 
she  said  swiftly. 

John  Senior  turned  and  gazed  at  her.  There  was 
suspicion  in  his  eye —  So  that  was  it!  He  had 
suspected  as  much — yesterday.  .  .  .  Well,  John 
Junior  should  have  a  typewriter  hi  his  own  office 
and  do  his  own  copying  after  this.  He  was  not 
going  to  have  Isabel's  head  turned  with  any  nonsense 
—and  wanting  to  look  pretty.  He  gazed  at  her 
slowly. 

She  was  pretty — there  was  no  denying  it — with 
the  little  soft  flush  in  her  cheeks. 

"That's  no  reason  I  should  pay  you  higher  wages — 
a  new  hat ! "  he  said  paternally.  "  You  ought  to  have 
looked  ahead  and  saved  something.  A  young  girl 
like  you — with  nobody  but  yourself  to  look  out  for 
ought  to  be  able  to  dress  on  ten  dollars  a  week!" 
He  ran  his  eye  over  the  blue  serge.  The  innocent- 
sounding  remark  was  wary. 

He  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  of  Aaron  Merton's 
drug-store  and  the  back-room.  He  meant  to  look 
into  it. 

But  no  employee  was  going  to  hold  him  up  for 


8o  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

higher  wages — not  while  he  was  master  in  his  own 
mill.    He  continued  to  look  at  her  keenly. 

She  sat  with  lips  pressed  together  looking  down. 

"Can't  ye?"  he  pursued.  She  raised  her  clear 
eyes  and  regarded  him. 

"I  told  you  I  needed  it,"  she  said.  Her  gaze  did 
not  drop.  "And  the  stenographers  in  Camden  get 
twenty  and  twenty-five  a  week,"  she  added. 

He  stirred  sharply.  "That's  Camden!"  he  said. 
"And  they're  girls  away  from  home.  They  have 
board  to  pay.  You  don't  have  to  pay  any  board, 
living  at  home." 

She  considered  it  impartially.  She  did  not  tell 
him  that  she  paid  more  than  board  at  home.  She 
was  taking  it  as  he  presented  it  to  her — as  an  econ- 
omic problem,  and  he  watched  her  shrewdly. 

"But  if  I  don't  have  to  pay  board,  because  I  live 
at  home,  I  should  think  you  ought  to  pay  me  just 
as  much.  It  is  my  good  luck  that  I  don't  have  to 
pay  board,  isn't  it — and  not  yours?"  She  looked 
at  him  again  with  clear  eyes,  and  John  Senior  laughed 
shortly. 

"We  might  split  the  difference!"  he  said  dryly. 
In  his  heart  he  was  a  little  proud  of  the  girl,  with  her 
clear  thinking  and  sturdy  common-sense.  But  she 
needn't  think  she  was  going  to  hold  him  up!  He 
patted  the  desk  a  little  with  his  fingers. 

"It  isn't  a  thing  for  you  to  argue  about,  Bel— 
because  it  happens  to  be  my  mill.  I  own  it  and  I 
am  the  one  to  decide  what  wages  are  paid."  His 
eyes  considered  it  impartially  again. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  81 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  go  somewhere  else,"  she  said. 
It  was  not  a  threat.  It  was  hardly  addressed  to 
him.  She  was  merely  looking  his  facts  hi  the 
face.  And  they  were  John  Senior's  facts. 

He  wished  he  had  been  a  little  less  precipitate. 

"I  don't  say  I  sha'n't  pay  you  more — raise  you 
from  time  to  tune,"  he  said  cautiously.  "But  /  am 
the  one  to  decide  when."  He  spoke  kindly.  She 
shook  her  head. 

"  I  need  it  now.  I  must  earn  twenty  dollars  a  week 
after  this."  He  noticed  uneasily  that  she  did  not 
say  "You  must  pay  me  twenty  dollars  a  week- 
She  sat  a  moment,  silent. 

"How  long  a  notice  do  I  give  you?"  she  asked. 

"Why — you  can't  leave  me,  Bel — like  that! 
After  being  here  so  long —  And  you  were  promoted 
only  last  fall!" 

"Yes.  But  of  course  it  you  can't  pay  it,  I  have  to 
go.  I  don't  like  to  leave  you.  I  like  working  here." 

If  she  had  been  shrewd  and  calculating  he  would 
have  known  how  to  deal  with  her.  It  was  the  friend- 
liness, the  quiet  assumption  that  he  would  be  glad 
to  pay  her  if  he  could,  that  he  was  thinking  of  both 
their  interests  in  the  matter — that  undid  him.  That 
and  the  fact  that  she  was  invaluable  to  him.  He 
should  never  find  another  stenographer  that  suited 
him  right  down  to  the  ground  the  way  Isabel  did. 

He  drummed  on  the  desk  a  minute.  "You 
couldn't  get  along  with  a  little  less?"  he  hazarded. 
She  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  think  I  ought  to." 


82  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Well — all  right."  He  seemed  to  dismiss  it  as 
not  after  all  so  important. 

"All  right !"  he  acquiesced. 

"When  does  it  begin?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"The  first  of  the  month." 

"That's  to-day." 

He  laughed  shortly.  "  Begins  to-day,"  he  grunted. 
He  looked  down  at  his  desk 

"You  don't  need  to  say  anything  about  it  to  Fan- 
nie," he  remarked  casually.  She  was  gathering  up 
her  papers.  She  paused. 

"I  can't  promise  that — not  if  she  asks  me." 

"I  didn't  say  you'd  got  to  promise  but  I  said  you 
didn't  need  to  tell  her.  .  .  .  What  was  I  dictating 
when  you  interrupted  me  ?  "  She  held  out  the  letter 
in  her  hand. 

"You  told  me  to  answer  this."  He  glanced  at 
it 

"Oh—  Yes.  Well— tell  'em  to  go  to  hell— I 
won't  stand  any  more  from  'em ! "  She  made  a  quiet 
note  and  smiled. 

"Yes,  sir.    I'll  tell  them." 

He  grunted  and  got  up  and  went  toward  the  next 
room. 

"There's  one  thing  I  forgot  to  speak  about,"  said 
Isabel  slowly.  He  wheeled  sharply. 

"  Well  ?  "    It  was  not  propitious. 

"He  came  back  last  night." 

"Who  came  back?" 

"Mr.  Braithwaite — that's  his  name,  isn't  it — the 
one  who  was  here  ?  "  John  stared  a  minute. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  83 

"What  did  he  want?" 

"He  said  his  daughter  left  her  scarf  and  he  drove 
over  to  get  it."  John  Senior's  hands  were  thrust  in 
his  pockets. 

"Humph!  "he  said. 

"Well— did  he  find  it?" 

"No—  It  wasn't  here.  She  must  have  left  it 
somewhere  else." 

"Pshaw!"  he  muttered.  "Scarf!—  What  time 
was  it?" 

"About  six.  I  was  copying  for  John  Junior — a 
poem."  He  raised  his  eyes. 

"John  here?"  he  asked.    She  flushed  a  little. 

"No,  sir.  He  came  in  and  asked  for  you  after 
you  had  gone.  But  he  didn't  stay." 

"  Yes,  I  know—  He  was  late  getting  home.  Well 
— you  told  Braithwaite  he  could  go  back  to — Cam- 
c!en,  I  suppose  ?  "  His  eye  twinkled. 

"I  told  him  I  hadn't  seen  any  scarf." 

"Nor  anybody  else !"  said  Berwick. 

"Hello!"  He  turned.  John  Junior  was  in  the 
door.  He  carried  something  in  his  hand.  He  held 
it  out. 

"This  belong  to  anybody  here?"  It  trailed, 
floating — a  filmy  yellow  thing  with  black  lines  and 
gold  tracing  embroidery  on  the  ends.  John  Senior 
looked  at  it. 

"Damn!"  he  said  slowly. 

"Where'dyougetit?" 

"In  my  room." 

John  Senior  turned  and  went  into  his  office  and 


84  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

shut  the  door.  His  son  gazed  at  the  door.  He 
looked  at  Isabel. 

"Just  busy,  I  guess."  She  was  smiling.  "That's 
Miss  Braithwaite's  scarf." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Her  father  came  back  for  it  last  night — to  see 
if  she  had  left  it.  Do  you  want  I  should  mail  it  to 
her?"  He  looked  at  the  scarf  and  at  Isabel— 

"I'm  going  over  to  Camden  this  afternoon.  I 
might  take  it  along.  Save  you  the  trouble." 

"Oh,  very  well."    She  held  her  chin  a  little  high. 

John  Junior  went  out.  He  carried  the  scarf  on 
his  arm.  The  ends  fluttered  a  little. 


XIV 

WHEN  Fannie  returned  Isabel  was  clacking  fast. 
Her  head  bent  to  the  machine  glinted  in  the  light  of 
the  window. 

Fannie  glanced  as  she  went  past.    She  stopped 

"Hello !  Got  your  hair  done  a  new  way!"  She 
surveyed  it  from  behind 

"Quite  a  stunt !"  she  pronounced. 

"Don't  interrupt,  Fannie!" 

"All  right."  She  went  on  to  the  closet.  In  a 
minute  she  emerged,  the  hat  with  its  velvet  band 
balanced  on  her  hand.  .  .  . 

"Look  at  that,  will  you!  ...  What's  up?" 
she  demanded  sternly.  She  came  over  twirling  the 
hat  on  her  hand  and  surveying  it. 

"Can't  say  I  like  it  so  very  well,"  she  said  critic- 
ally. "Neat  but  not  gaudy!  What  you  up  to, 
Bel,  with  all  these  new  dumpty-things  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  said  Isabel  with  a  smile.  "Run 
along,  please." 

Fannie  returned  the  hat  to  the  closet. 

"Got  a  beau?"  she  asked,  popping  out. 

"No." 

"Think  you'll  get  one,  I  suppose ! —    Humph ! " 

"Don't  be  silly!" 

"Oh-     La-la !    You  can't  fool  me." 

Fannie  proceeded  to  her  window.  "I  don't  like 

85 


86  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

the  hat  anyway.  You  better  put  the  other  thing 
back  on  it." 

"I  can't —    Gave  it  away." 

"Buy  some  more." 

"I'm  going  to  have  a  new  one,"  said  Isabel  with  a 
fleeting  smile. 

"A  new  hat!" 

She  nodded.  There  was  a  faint  little  flush  in  her 
face.  Fannie  glared  at  it. 

"Ah-ha!  What  did  I  tell  you!"  She  attacked 
the  machine.  "  My  Lord ! —  New  hats ! " 

John  Senior's  head  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
He  glanced  at  Fannie  and  at  her  machine—  Her 
head  was  absorbed  in  its  work.  Her  fingers  flew. 
Radiant  efficiency  emanated  from  her. 

John  Senior's  glance  was  grim.  He  turned  it  to 
Isabel. 

"Where's  the  machine  that  was  in  my  room?" 
he  asked.  She  looked  up  with  puzzled  gaze. 

"Oh —  I  forgot!  I  had  to  take  it.  My  carriage- 
tape  snapped."  She  nodded  to  it  on  the  table  and 
he  came  over.  He  examined  it. 

"Have  to  be  sent  away,"  he  grumbled. 

"Yes.  I'm  sorry.  But  it's  lucky  we've  got  the 
extra  one!"  She  touched  it  with  her  finger.  "'I 
like  it  better  than  mine,"  she  said  approvingly. 

"  I  told  John  he  could  have  that  one,"  said  Berwick 
quickly.  She  looked  up  hi  surprise. 

"Does  he  want  it?—  Any  machine,  I  mean.  I 
thought  he  hated  typewriting." 

" I  told  him  he  could  have  it,"  said  Berwick.    "He 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  87 

will  have  to  wait  now."  He  scowled  at  the  ma- 
chine. 

"It  won't  be  more  than  a  couple  of  weeks,"  said 
Isabel.  Her  fingers  hovered  about  the  keys  and 
there  was  a  little  flush  in  her  face.  He  looked  at 
it  grimly.  He  had  been  none  too  soon.  .  .  .  Isabel 
was  a  nice  girl  but  she  was  not  the  wife  he  had  picked 
out  for  John  Junior.  He  was  not  going  to  stand  any 
nonsense.  Besides  he  couldn't  spare  her —  A  new 
machine  would  cost  a  hundred.  Isabel  was  worth —  ? 
His  eyes  narrowed  to  it. 

"I  think  I'll  get  him  a  new  one,"  he  said  gener- 
ously. "  We  need  another  anyway  and  you  can  keep 
that  one  if  you  like  it  better."  The  flush  in  her  face 
deepened. 

John  Junior's  step  was  coming  along  the  hall.  It 
stopped  outside  the  door.  His  father  looked  up  over 
his  glasses. 

"  I've  come  for  that  machine,"  said  the  young  man. 

"Well,  you  can't  have  it  to-day.  We  can't  spare 
it." 

"Bother !"  said  John  Junior. 

"Can't  you  wait — a  day?"  asked  his  father  a 
little  testily. 

"Oh,  I, can  wait.  Yes.  What's  that  one  doing ? " 
He  motioned  to  the  table.  "Why  can't  I  have 
that?" 

"Broken —  Take  two  weeks  to  fix  it.  I'm  going 
to  get  you  a  new  one."  His  father  spoke  propitiat- 
ingly — a  hundred  dollars'  worth. 

John  Junior  ignored  the  hundred  dollars. 


88  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"  I  want  it  now — right  off.  I've  got  to  get  to  work 
to-day.  Can  I  have  Bel?" 

"No,"  said  his  father  curtly.    "You  can  not." 

Fannie  from  her  window  cast  a  flying  glance — 

"You  don't  need  any  two  weeks  for  that  ma- 
chine!" she  said  scornfully.  John  Senior  turned. 

"What's  that  you  say?" 

She  nodded  competently.  "Send  over  to  the 
Commercial  School  in  Camden.  They  will  have  a 
man  here  in  half  an  hour  to  fix  it.  Cost  you  less, 
too." 

John  Senior  glared.    "You  sure  about  that?" 

She  nodded.    "Want  I  should  telephone?" 

"Go  ahead!" 

She  went  to  the  desk  with  the  little  airy  flourish  of 
skirts  that  hinted  at  wings. 

"Hello —  Give  me  one-nine-three-eight,  please." 
She  bent  her  ear.  Her  voice  took  on  the  high  note 
of  refinement —  "Is  Mr.  Hodgkins  there?  Mr. 
Samuel  Hodgkins.  Yes.  Tell  him  I  want  to  speak 
with  him.  .  .  .  Never  you  mind  who  it  is  calling ! 
You  run  along!"  She  listened  a  minute — "Run 
along ! "  she  said  tersely. 

She  listened  smiling  competently. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Hodgkins?"  Her  voice  purred  a 
little.  "This  is  Fannie  Blakeley  calling — Berwick's 
Mill,  you  know." 

She  listened  again  and  giggled. 

"That's  all  right.  .  .  .  Well—  Say— look! 
Listen !  Can  you  come  over  here  right  off — to  fix  a 
machine  that's  gone  dippy  .  .  .  what?" 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  89 

"Yes,  carriage-tape  broke.  .  .  .  What!  All 
right."  She  hung  up  and  swung  about  on  her  chair, 
coming  with  a  swirl  of  her  skirts  from  far-distant 
space. 

"He'll  be  right  along  over,"  she  said  in  the  matter 
of  fact  tone  of  every  day.  She  returned  to  her  work. 
John  Berwick's  face  beamed. 

"You  can  take  that  along  with  you,"  he  said  to 
John  Junior.  He  nodded  to  the  machine  on  the 
table.  "Have  him  fix  it  in  your  room.  Save  time 
and  bother." 

John  Junior  bore  it  away.  His  father  glanced 
casually  at  Fannie  by  her  window.  Her  face  was 
immovable  and  her  gaze  fixed  on  the  keys  was 
austere.  Her  fingers  darted  at  them  in  little 
stabs. 

"Did  you  get  my  letter  there  in  time?"  he  asked 
pleasantly. 

She  nodded  without  stopping. 

"Just  made  it.  ...  He'd  got  the  mail-bag  tied 
up,  but  he  undid  it." 

"Decent  of  him,"  said  John  Senior. 

"Yes."  She  drew  out  the  finished  sheet.  "I 
reckon  he  wouldn't  'a'  done  it  just  for  me!"  She 
blew  at  the  sheet  lightly  making  erasures.  "Only 
the  man  that  was  here  yesterday,  Braithwaite — he 
came  along  and  he  saw  I  was  late  and  he  offered  to 
take  it  in  with  his." 

John  Senior's  mouth  stared.  It  came  together 
with  a  snap.  "  Braithwaite  mailed — my  letter  ?  " 

"Yes.    He  was  real  polite  about  it."    She  laid 


90  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

aside  the  sheet.  "He's  got  political  pull,  all  right," 
she  said  carelessly.  "The  old  man  opened  the  bag 
and  popped  them  all  in,  easy  as  you  please." 

"Well — of  all  the — damned  luck!"  said  Berwick 
under  his  breath. 

She  nodded  complacently.  "Couldn't  'a'  done  it 
except  for  him — getting  there  just  the  minute  he 
did.  He  was  late  too ! " 

John  Berwick  made  no  reply.  He  wheeled  about 
abruptly  and  went  toward  the  inner  office.  The 
door  slammed  with  firmness.  Fannie  looked  up. 

"Didn't  even  say  thank  you!"  she  murmured. 
"Well,  I  had  a  dandy  ride  anyhow!  Suits  me  all 
right  to  be  rich !"  She  studied  the  coils  of  Isabel's 
hair  reflectively. 

"Say,  Honey — I  wouldn't  mind  your  doing  my 
hair  like  that — for  a  try ! "    Isabel  shook  her  head. 

"It  wouldn't  suit  you,"  she  said. 

"I'll  promise  not  to  make  a  fuss " 

"I  mean  it's  not  your  style!" 

"  Oh ! "  She  considered  it.  "  It  certainly  looks  all 
right  on  you.  I  saw  John  Junior  looking  at  it " 

"Silly!  "said  Isabel. 

"John?"  Fannie  laughed.  "He  did,  though. 
Couldn't  hardly  take  his  eyes  off.  .  .  .  You  don't 
think  it  would  suit  my  style  then  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Isabel  shortly.  Then  her  mouth  re- 
laxed. "I'll  do  yours  this  noon  if  you  want  me  to— 
another  way."  She  gazed  at  her  critically,  her  eyes 
narrowing  a  little,  as  if  she  looked  at  something 
that  pleased  her. 


THE  RAIN-€OAT  GIRL  91 

"You  want  little  curly  things  on  the  sides  and 
around  your  face — light  and  fluffy — like  you!" 
"  My  land !"  said  Fannie  softly.    Isabel  smiled. 
"You'll  see,"  she  replied  sagely. 


XV 

JOHN  JUNIOR  carried  the  typewriter  to  his  room. 
He  placed  it  on  the  table  and  looked  at  it.  It  seemed 
to  jar  with  the  yellow  silk  fringe  of  the  lamp-shade. 
He  brought  out  a  stand  and  put  it  by  the  window, 
and  moved  back  a  few  paces  and  regarded  it  though  t- 
fully.  .  .  . 

He  selected  finally  a  corner  in  the  recess  back  of  the 
projecting  wall.  The  light  was  dim  in  the  recess, 
but  the  machine  was  out  of  sight.  He  fingered  the 
keys  absently,  wondering  whether  he  would  be  able 
to  use  it  without  too  much  annoyance.  ...  It 
was  always  so  pleasant  to  dictate  to  Isabel.  He 
often  thought  of  happy  lines  and  verses  while  he  was 
dictating  to  her.  He  smiled  with  the  vision  of  her 
and  the  light  of  the  window  shining  behind  her.  He 
should  miss  having  her  to  dictate  to —  But  it  was 
certainly  a  good  thing  to  have  a  typewriter  of  his 
own —  If  only  he  had  a  place  for  it.  ... 

It  would  be  a  great  convenience  not  to  wait  on  his 
father's  plans  when  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  things 
off.  ...  He  would  finish  something  now  and  copy 
it  as  soon  as  the  man  put  the  machine  in  order.  .  .  . 
There  was  the  poem  on  "Dreams."  The  editor  of 
the  Atlantic  was  pretty  sure  to  like  that —  It  had 
double  stanzas. 

92 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  93 

He  hunted  out  the  poem  and  changed  a  line  and 
walked  back  and  forth  on  the  rug  chanting  it  in  a 
low  grim  voice. 

The  black  velvet  jacket  that  he  wore  when  he 
wanted  to  coax  the  poetic  mood  was  frayed.  Taken 
with  his  informal  tie  it  gave  him  a  somewhat  untidy 
appearance. 

The  coat  was  a  little  dusty  now  and  rumpled  from 
carrying  the  machine  from  place  to  place.  As  he 
walked  and  muttered  he  ran  a  hand  through  his 
hair,  ruffling  it.  It  stood  up  loosely  on  his  head 
framing  the  strong  blocked-in  features  with  a  rough 
halo.  The  dreamy  eyes  beneath  the  halo  looked 
out  unseeing  as  he  paced  the  rug. 

A  knock  at  the  door  broke  the  look.  He  came 
back  with  a  start  from  vast  spaces. 

' '  Come  in ! "    It  was  impatient. 

The  young  man  who  entered  was  thin  and  short, 
but  the  light  hair  brushed  sternly  upward  in  its 
smooth  rigid  pompadour  added  several  inches  to  his 
height.  His  cuffs,  showing  well  below  the  sleeve, 
were  immaculate  and  his  pointed  shoes  were  carefully 
brushed.  He  might  without  change  of  detail  have 
stepped  from  an  advertisement —  "This-young- 
man-studied-with-us-six-months-and-now " 

He  came  forward  briskly. 

"A  machine  gone  wrong,  I  understand,"  he  said. 
John  ran  a  dazed  hand  through  his  hair,  casting  off 
dreams. 

"  It's  in  there ! "  He  waved  his  hand.  The  young 
man  moved  quickly  and  disappeared  as  by  magic 


94  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

in  the  recess.  John  eyed  the  place  where  he  had 
been,  gloomily. 

"  Carriage- tape,  I  see,"  came  the  crisp  voice  from 
behind  the  wall. 

"I  believe  so,  yes."    John  strolled  in. 

The  young  man  whisked  a  little  hammer  from  his 
sack  pocket,  a  screw-driver  and  wrench  from  some 
other  place.  He  gave  a  tap  and  a  turn  to  the 
machine  and  drew  out  the  broken  ends  of  the  tape, 
tossing  them  aside  as  mere  rubbish.  He  produced 
a  new  tape — from  his  hat  apparently,  and  inserted 
it.  He  snapped  the  ends,  joining  them  with  a  little 
twist  of  the  wire,  and  got  up. 

"That's  done,"  he  said  pleasantly.  John  blinked 
a  little. 

The  young  man  was  stowing  the  hammer  and 
screw-driver  in  his  pocket.  He  was  looking  about 
the  room  with  appreciative  eyes. 

"Nice  place  you've  got  here."  John's  gaze  fol- 
lowed the  approving  gesture.  He  smiled. 

"You  think  so?"  he  said  modestly. 

"Fine —  Pictures,  books — "  He  paused  in  the 
enumeration  and  looked  at  the  other  young  man 
with  a  sudden  vague  gesture 

"You're  not  young  Mr.  Berwick,  are  you?" 

John  acknowledged  it.  He  held  out  his  hand. 
The  young  man  grasped  it  firmly. 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you,  I'm  sure.  My  name's  Hodg- 
kins — Samuel  Hodgkins.  I've  heard  of  you." 

"  Sit  down,  won't  you  ?  "  said  John.  He  was  vaguely 
nattered  by  this  young  man  who  had  heard  of  him. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  95 

"I  ought  not  to  stop — business  trip — paid  by  the 
hour—  But  I've  heard  you  write — write  poetry 
and  so  on  ?  "  He  gazed  at  him  hopefully. 

John  made  a  modest  gesture. 

"There's  something  I'd  like  to  ask  you  to  do  for 
me,"  said  Hodgkins  quickly.  "If  you  aren't  too 
busy?" 

John  put  it  aside.  "Sit  down,  won't  you?"  He 
motioned  again  to  the  chair. 

The  young  man  sat  down.  He  crossed  his  legs. 
"I  can't  write  poetry  myself — not  in  my  line.  But 
I  happen  to  want  some — a  few  lines  just  now.  I 
wonder  if  I  could  get  you  to  do  them  for  me."  He 
put  it  straight.  "I'd  be  willing  to  pay  for  it." 

"Well — '  John  paused  and  cleared  his  throat. 
"Well " 

"It's  this  way — "  said  the  youth.  "I  want  to 
send  a  lily — Easter,  you  know — next  Sunday.  And  I 
thought  a  little  poetry  would  go  good  with  it.  She's 
my  lady-friend."  He  glanced  hopefully  at  John. 

"It's  a  thing  I  can't  do  myself  or  I  wouldn't  ask 
anybody  to  do  it  for  me."  .  . .  His  competent  face 
was  regretful.  "I  suppose  it's  pretty  easy  for  you? 
And  I  know  it  would  be  all  right — anything  you'd 
do.  I'd  have  confidence  in  the  goods — sight  un- 
seen." He  laughed  a  little,  embarrassed. 

"Well — you  see—"  John  hesitated.  He  brushed 
a  fleck  from  the  velvet  coat. 

"I  am  a  poet,  I  suppose.  People  seem  to  think 
the  stuff  I  do  is  poetry.  A  number  of  people  have 
said  they  like  it.  I  have  a  good  many  letters — from 


96  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

editors  and  so  on."  He  dismissed  them  with  a 
modest  hand.  The  young  man  regarded  him  un- 
blinking. He  waited  for  the  result. 

The  poet  shook  his  head.  A  lock  from  the  loose 
halo  dropped  to  his  forehead.  He  thrust  it  up. 

"I  am  afraid  I  couldn't  write  anything  to  order 
like  this.  .  .  .  You  see  poetry  is  difficult  business." 
He  motioned  toward  the  recess  and  his  smile  was 
whimsical  and  friendly.  "I  couldn't  finish  it  all 
up  in  two  minutes  the  way  you  did." 

The  young  man  laughed  out,  but  his  face  was 
disappointed. 

"I'd  be  willing  to  give  you  time — any  amount  of 
time.  But  it's  Sunday,  you  see.  And  I've  got  the 
lily."  He  rose  to  his  feet  briskly. 

' '  Well,  of  course  if  you  can't,  you  can't.  I  thought 
I'd  just  ask  you.  No  harm  in  asking ?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  John  heartily. 

"I  only  want  a  few  fines,  you  know.  I  could 
almost  do  them  myself — if  it  was  in  my  line.  .  .  . 
Well,  good-by!  Thank  you!"  He  had  recovered 
his  hat.  John  detained  him. 

"I  could  get  you  something  perhaps." 

The  business  face  was  irradiated.    It  waited. 

"Not  anything  of  my  own,"  said  John  firmly, 
' '  but  another  poet — Tennyson.  I  seem  to  remember 
a  poem  of  his —  Let  me  see " 

He  crossed  to  the  shelves  and  took  out  a  book  and 
blew  off  the  dust  and  ran  the  leaves  rapidly  through 
his  fingers 

"Ah—    Here  it  is!    Yes—    I  thought  so!"    He 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  97 

turned  to  the  waiting  face  and  read  the  lines  in  a 
low  rapt  voice. 

Elaine  the  fair,  Elaine  the  lovable, 
Elaine,  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat, 
High  in  her  chamber  up  a  tower  to  the  East 
Guarded  the  sacred  shield  of  Lancelot. 

"I  say!  That's  fine!"  said  Hodgkins.  "She's 
in  a  room  that's  high  up — not  a  tower  exactly.  I 
guess  you  couldn't  call  it  a  tower — but  there's  a  win- 
dow she  looks  out  of  a  good  deal.  ...  I  don't 
know's  it's  exactly  east —  Which  way  is  east  here  ?  " 
He  whirled  about  searching  the  compass. 

John  pointed. 

"That's  it!  Then  it  is  the  east— her  room!" 
He  glanced  at  the  book  in  John's  hand. 

"Seems  almost  like  one  of  those  things  that's 
meant  to  be!"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  awe.  "Would 
you  mind  reading  it  again,  please  ?  " 

John  read  it  again  with  pleasure. 

"It's  a  queer  name!"  said  Hodgkins  reflectively. 
"Elaine —  Maybe  I  could  put  her  name  in  in- 
stead." He  bent  to  the  book,  a  hand  on  either  knee, 
and  read  the  lines,  muttering  them  thoughtfully — 
trying  them  out  with  the  alien  name.  He  straight- 
ened. 

"Well,  it  don't  go  quite  so  smooth  maybe,  but  it's 
all  right!  .  .  .  You  can't  expect  everything  in  a 
poem — that  you  didn't  do  yourself."  His  briskness 
had  returned.  He  was  alive  with  hope  and  the  kind- 
ness of  life. 


98  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Now,  I'll  just  make  a  copy  of  that — if  you  don't 
mind."  He  took  out  a  pencil.  It  was  very  sharp. 
John  motioned  it  away. 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  the  book,"  he  said.  "I 
have  another  and  I'd  like  you  to  have  this  copy." 
He  took  out  his  fountain  pen  and  wrote  on  the  blank 
page 

"To  Samuel  Hodgkins,  with  best  wishes  from 
John  Berwick,  Jr." 

He  dated  it.  He  felt  a  foreshadowing  of  creative 
joy  in  the  presentation  lines.  He  saw  himself  in- 
scribing endless  volumes  to  waiting  young  men. 
He  handed  it  over  with  a  friendly  smile. 

"There  you  are!" 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  thank  you."  He  received  it 
gravely.  "  It  means  a  lot  to  me ! " 

"Not  at  all!"  said  John.  "I  am  glad  to  do  it. 
I  only  wish  I  could  have  let  you  have  something  of 
my  own ! "  It  was  regretful  and  kind. 

"  Oh,  this  is  all  right — better  maybe ! "  He  walked 
to  the  door  and  turned. 

"I  shall  make  no  charge  for  the  machine,"  he  said 
briskly. 

John  listened  to  his  retreating  footsteps.  He 
threw  himself  on  the  terra-cotta  couch  and  looked 
up  dreamily  at  the  ceiling.  .  .  .  Probably  there 
were  others — other  people  he  had  never  heard  of 
or  seen  who  knew  he  was  a  poet — and  wrote  poetry ! 
And  there  would  be  others  who  would  know.  The 
brisk  footsteps  in  the  hall  grew  faint  and  died  away. 
But  John's  ear  did  not  note  their  passing.  It 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  99 

was  listening  to  cadenced  measures  and  to  the 
murmur  of  applauding  voices  sounding  through  dim 
space  .  .  .  coming  to  him  down  the  path  of  the 
years. 


XVI 

FANNIE  from  her  window  looked  down  into  the 
street. 

"Come  here,  Bel!"  she  cried.  "Come  quick — 
or  he'll  be  gone!" 

Isabel  hurried.  The  young  man  below  stood  by 
a  car,  one  foot  on  the  running-board.  He  was  gaz- 
ing up  at  the  window.  He  lifted  his  hat  with  a 
gesture  that  revealed  the  whole  of  the  carefully 
brushed  pompadour.  He  replaced  the  hat  covering 
the  pompadour  and  mounted  the  car.  He  drew 
on  his  gloves,  raised  his  hat  again  to  the  window 
and  seized  the  wheel.  The  Ford  motor-truck  went 
chugging  down  the  street. 

Fannie  leaned  far  out.  She  drew  back  with  shin- 
ing eyes. 

"Now  what  do  you  think  of  that!"  she  de- 
manded. 

"Did  you  know  him?"  asked  Isabel. 

"Know  him!  He  is  my  gentleman-friend!"  It 
left  nothing  to  be  said. 

"I  never  heard  you  speak  of  him,"  said  Isabel. 

"Well,  I  don't  have  to  gabble  all  I  know,  do  I ! 
His  name's  Hodgkins — Samuel  Hodgkins.  He's 
first  assistant  over  to  the  Commercial  School  in 
Camden.  It  was  him  I  was  telephoning  to  this 
morning  about  the  machine." 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  101 

"  He's  been  very  quick ! "  said  Isabel.  She  glanced 
at  the  dock. 

"Quick !  I  should  say  so !  Sometimes  you  don't 
know  whether  he  is  coming  or  going — he  is  so  quick ! 
Makes  up  his  mind — and  won't  take  'no'!  She 
sighed.  Isabel  considered  it. 

"He  looks  nice  and  kind,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 

"He's  an  awfully  nice  fellow!"  allowed  Fannie 
with  conviction.  "But  I  do'  no' — !"  She  said  it 
inconsequently  and  cast  off  decision.  Her  fingers 
returned  to  the  keys. 

In  the  inner  office  behind  the  closed  door  John 
Senior  could  be  heard  moving  restlessly  about. 

"Old  man's  rumptious!"  said  Fannie  over  her 
shoulder. 

But  John  Senior  was  more  than  rumptious.  He 
was  mad — mad  all  through  at  the  turn  of  Fate  that 
had  dropped  his  letter  to  Moulton  into  Eben  Braith- 
waite's  outstretched  hand.  .  .  .  He  flung  himself 
into  a  chair  and  hunched  his  shoulders  and  looked  at 
it. 

He  could  not  accuse  Braithwaite  of  hanging  around 
the  post-office  waiting  for  his  letter.  But  Braith- 
waite was  too  keen  not  to  take  advantage  of  it  when 
it  dropped  into  his  hand  like  that ! —  And  special- 
delivery  too !  It  was  the  limit — to  have  it  happen 
just  like  that ! 

Braithwaite  was  on  the  jump  for  this  Moulton  deal. 
He  knew  there  was  something  in  the  air — though  he 
could  not  have  any  idea  yet.  Now  he  had  the 
address  he  would  lose  no  time  finding  out.  That 


102  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

gang  of  political  sharps  that  used  him  to  pull  their 
chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  would  make  a  fat  haul! 
John  Berwick  shrugged  his  shoulders  a  little  higher 
and  glared  at  his  desk.  His  coat-collar  was  hunched 
up  about  his  ears  and  he  settled  down  more  firmly 
in  his  chair.  .  .  . 

The  weak  point  was  Moulton —  You  couldn't 
trust  Moulton.  .  .  .  He  was  all  right  so  long  as  no 
other  parties  approached  him.  And  he  was  bound 
by  a  cast-iron  oath —  No  one  else  was  to  know  of 
the  option  or  to  know  that  he  controlled  the  right 
to  sell  the  option  on  an  oil  territory  that  would 
probably  yield  richer  than  any  other  tract  in  the 
southwest — make  millionaires  of  the  men  who  got  it. 

Probably.  .  .  .    Yes. 

That  was  the  rub!  If  he  were  certain!  Or  he 
could  take  time  to  run  out  there  and  see  for  himself ! 

He  chewed  on  it  a  while. 

Then  he  opened  the  door.  He  nodded  briskly  to 
Isabel. 

"Come  in  here,"  he  said.    "I  want  to  dictate." 

The  pencil  made  rapid  notes  of  the  words  flung  at 
her,  and  as  usual  he  quieted  down  under  her  assured 
movements.  The  dictation  ran  smoothly  to  the  end. 

"That's  all,"  he  said  curtly. 

"When  do  you  go?"  she  asked.  She  gathered  up 
her  work. 

"This  afternoon." 

"And  when  do  you  come  back?" 

"Devil  knows !"  he  growled. 

She  moved  unperturbed  toward  the  door.    He 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  103 

looked  grimly  at  the  comfortable  unhurried  line  of 
her  back  and  shoulder. 

"You  better  ask  Him !"  he  said  chuckling.  "He 
knows  more  about  this  business  than  anybody  else, 
I  guess."  She  did  not  turn  her  head  but  he  caught 
the  glimpse  of  a  smile  around  the  edge  of  her 
cheek. 

"I  want  you  to  keep  an  eye  on  things  here,  you 
understand?  He  will  likely  be  around  these  parts — 
soon  as  my  back  is  turned." 

She  nodded  with  a  little  gesture  of  assent  and 
closed  the  door  gently  behind  her. 

Fannie  looked  up  curiously. 

"Thunderheads?"  she  asked  sweetly. 

"No.  Just  a  breeze,"  said  Isabel.  "Wind's 
changing,  I  guess." 

Fannie  glanced  again  at  the  shining  coils  of  hair. 

"My!  But  I  can't  hardly  wait  till  noon!"  she 
said.  "  Think  of  me— and  that  /  " 

At  noon  she  yielded  herself  with  a  look  of  glorified 
expectation. 

"I  just  love  to  have  my  hair  fussed  over,"  she 
murmured.  With  a  little  ecstatic  sigh  she  leaned 
back  and  closed  her  eyes.  The  apron  pinned  about 
her  neck  added  to  the  cherubic  effect. 

Isabel's  swift  fingers  let  down  the  hair  about  the 
beatific  expression  and  reached  for  a  comb.  She 
ran  it  through  the  scant  locks  toward  the  scalp 
causing  each  separate  hair  to  spring  back  as  the 
comb  hovered  lightly  and  invited  it  skilfully,  and 
little  natural  curls  seemed  to  shake  themselves  loose 


104  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

from  it  and  frame  the  upturned  face  and  tilted  nose 
and  celestial  expression  of  bliss. 

"You've  got  lovely  hair !"  said  Isabel,  diving  at  it 
with  swiftly-stabbing  pins. 

"Awful  thin !"  said  Fannie  apologetically. 

"Yes.  You  ought  to  do  something — massage  it 
— every  night ! "  She  scowled  at  it  thoughtfully  and 
readjusted  a  lock  and  stood  back  again,  her  finger- 
tips upraised.  So  the  artist  retreats  from  his  can- 
vas, striving  to  catch  the  glow  on  the  tip  of  a  brush 
and  pin  it  forever. 

She  darted  at  it  and  touched  it  lightly — little 
electric  pats  that  evoked  it  swiftly. 

"I'm  almost  asleep !"  murmured  Fannie. 

"It's  done!"  said  Isabel.    She  laughed  happily. ' 
"Get  up  and  look  at  yourself !" 

Fannie  regarded  it  with  a  look  of  awe.  She 
twisted  her  neck  and  looked  as  far  behind  as  nature 
permitted. 

"I  can't  see  the  back,"  she  said  regretfully,  "but 
the  front  is  sweet  1  I  don't  see  how  you  ever  did  it — 
Just  too  cute  for  words,  Bel!"  She  laid  down  the 
glass.  "You  got  to  show  me  how!"  she  said  sol- 
emnly. 

"  All  right!  To-morrow.  Let's  come  down  to  the 
fence — show  it  to  them !" 

"Wait  a  minute —  You  can't  spring  a  thing  like 
that  on  'em  sudden — all  in  a  minute!  Take  their 
breath  away ! " 

She  moved  to  the  window  and  leaned  out  care- 
lessly. She  looked  down  on  the  crowd  by  the  fence. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  105 

.  .  .  Some  one  gazed  up  and  waved  a  hand  and 
gazed  again. 

"Look  at  Fannie  Blakeley,  girls! —  Will  you 
look!" 

"  What's  up,  Fan  ?    Who's  your  barber  ?  " 

"Like  it?"  called  Fannie.  She  turned  a  proud 
head  and  gave  a  back  view. 

"Dandy !—     Who  did  it?    Come  on  down !" 

She  descended  and  they  gathered  about  her  and 
commented  and  laughed.  The  morning  papers  were 
full  of  a  world  crisis.  But  nothing  in  the  papers 
had  moved  them  like  Fannie  Blakeley's  hair.  .  .  . 
Something  had  happened  to  Fannie!  The  little 
curls  seemed  to  evoke  some  spirit  within  her  that 
had  been  hi  hiding — waiting  the  magic  touch.  She 
carried  her  head  with  smiling  lightness.  She  rose 
on  her  toes  a  little  and  held  herself  poised  to  their 
admiring  gaze. 

"It's  all  right,  Fan!"  They  moved  about  her 
breathless. 

"Who  did  it ? "  She  nodded  to  the  artist.  Isabel, 
a  little  to  one  side,  stood  regarding  her  handiwork 
with  thoughtful  growing  vision.  .  .  .  She  would 
do  it  a  little  higher  next  time,  she  thought. 

"Oh Bel!"  "You sweet  thing !*—  "Do mine- 
will  you?"  "And  mine!"  They  crowded  on  her, 
pushing. 

She  fended  them  off  and  moved  back  laughing 
and  nodding.  There  was  a  little  glow  of  happiness 
hi  her  face. 

"To-morrow,"  she  said. 


io6  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

The  bell  in  the  factory  struck  sharply.  The 
whistles  took  the  note  and  blew  shrilly. 

The  crowd  dissolved  and  vanished.  And  in  each 
fluttering  head  was  a  little  image  of  itself  turned 
inside  out,  transformed,  beatific  in  curls  and  lightness. 

If  the  history  of  the  transformation  of  heads  that 
went  on  in  Berwick's  Mill  were  to  be  set  down  hi  full 
the  world  could  not  contain  the  books  that  would  be 
written.  They  would  give  the  biography  of  a  hun- 
dred girls  and  all  the  thoughts  and  feelings  evoked 
in  them — especially  the  feelings.  .  .  .  Dim,  un- 
guessed  little  gropings  that  came  when  they  looked  at 
themselves  in  the  glass — that  Isabel  always  withheld 
sternly  till  the  last  pin  was  stabbled  firmly  hi  place 
and  the  final  lock  adjusted. 

Then  the  girl  looked  and  beheld  a  new  face  in  the 
glass — dark  or  light,  dignified  or  petite — and  smiling 
at  her.  And  the  girl  smiled  back  and  tossed  her  head 
a  little. 

Perhaps  the  hair  went  back  next  day  to  the  old 
lines — perhaps  the  clumsy  fingers  could  not  achieve 
the  ideal  that  for  a  crowding  moment  had  looked  out 
from  the  glass. 

But  they  never  forgot. 

Feet  and  hands  and  arms  moved  toward  it.  Some- 
where it  waited  for  them. 


XVII 

ELLEN  BRAITHWAITE  came  down  the  room  with 
cordial  extended  hand. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !" 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  She  bent  her  near-sighted  gaze  to 
something  the  young  man  held  in  his  hand 

"My  scarf!"  she  said  quickly.  "How  good  of 
you !  I  had  quite  given  it  up ! "  She  took  it  from 
him,  patting  it  a  little. 

"I  am  foolishly  fond  of  it,"  she  said. 

"Sit  down — "  She  moved  with  a  little  gesture  to 
a  chair,  and  he  sat  down  near  her. 

He  had  not  intended  to  stay.  But  something  in 
the  slow  gesture  made  it  seem  rude  to  hurry  away— 
and  made  him  want  to  stay. 

She  patted  the  scarf  again  where  it  lay  on  her 
knee.  "I  am  ridiculously  fond  of  it — I  bought  it 
in  Rome — at  a  little  place  in  the  Quirinal." 

John  leaned  forward,  looking  at  it  intently. 

"That  is  what  I  remembered!"  he  said  quickly, 
" — where  I  saw  that  sort  of  thing.  It  kept  coming 
back  to  me  making  me  think  of  something — like  a 
word  you  try  to  remember  and  can't." 

"You've  been  there?"  she  asked,  pleased. 

"They  keep  photographs,  don't  they?" 

She  regarded  the  scarf  a  little  quizzically.  "I 
think  so — yes." 

He  saw  suddenly  the  Mona  Lisa  smiling  down  on 

107 


io8  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

him  from  the  wall.  He  could  not  have  told  why  he 
thought  of  her  just  then — except  that  she  was  his 
largest  photograph. 

"I  got  several  things  there,  I  remember — if  it  is 
the  same  place ?" 

"Near  the  Palace.    Just  a  few  doors  farther  on." 

"Yes!  That's  it!  I  was  crazy  about  photo- 
graphs. I  bought  them  everywhere ! " 

She  smiled,  looking  at  him  curiously.  "And  you 
don't  care  for  them  now? " 

"I  don't  know  what  I  care  for  now,"  he  said 
frankly.  "But  if  I  were  in  Rome  again  I  know  I 
shouldn't  buy  photographs.  I'd  rather  have  some- 
thing like  that,"  He  nodded  to  the  scarf  on  her 
knee. 

She  lifted  it,  letting  the  ends  float  out. 

"  You  couldn't  wear  a  thing  like  that ! " 

"No.  But  I  could  give  it  to  some  one!"  he  said 
confidently.  She  glanced  up  quickly — and  then 
away. 

"I  should  not  want  you  to  give  my  scarf  to  any- 
one. It  is  my  particular  property,  you  know ! " 

"Haven't  I  returned  it  to  you  safe?"  said  John. 
He  had  a  sudden  sense  of  exhilaration  in  talking  with 
her.  Her  words  seemed  to  mean  more  than  they 
said — all  sorts  of  things  that  made  his  blood  tingle 
and  his  heart  beat  swiftly. 

She  was  regarding  him  with  her  slow  smiling  gaze. 
She  nodded. 

"You  returned  it  this  time,  yes—  But  how  do 
I  know  I  could  always  trust  you?  If  you  had 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  109 

seen  it  first  and  bought  it  first?"  The  shimmering 
folds  lay  on  her  knee.  She  stroked  them  a  little. 

John  noted  how  white  her  hand  was  passing  back 
and  forth  on  the  scarf.  The  slow  movement  seemed 
to  fascinate  him. 

He  got  to  his  feet.  "I  must  be  driving  back," 
he  said. 

"Oh!"  She  tossed  the  scarf  aside  and  got  up. 
"You  must  stay  for  tea  with  me.  I'll  ring  for  it 
now." 

She  moved  across  the  room,  and  he  waited  irres- 
olute. 

"Come,"  she  said  quickly,  "I  want  to  show  you 
my  garden  while  they  are  bringing  it  in." 

She  took  him  out  through  a  French  window  to  the 
terrace  and  showed  him  the  Russian  violets  bloom- 
ing in  a  protected  bed  below  the  terrace.  There  were 
snowdrops  scattered  about  through  the  grass,  and 
crocuses  and  hyacinths  were  coming  into  bloom.  A 
little  beyond,  the  greenhouses  revealed  through  their 
glass  walls  masses  of  lilies  growing  in  pots. 

"Ugly  things,  aren't  they,"  she  said,  looking  in 
on  the  banked  lilies. 

"The  gardener  raises  them  for  market  on  com- 
mission. He  crowds  the  greenhouse  with  them. 
But  they  will  be  gone  to-morrow.  They  cart  them 
away  in  loads  just  before  Easter." 

John's  gaze  sought  the  glass  walls  with  the  white 
bells  shining  through. 

"Elaine,  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat,"  he  murmured, 
trying  vaguely  to  recall  something.  .  .  .  And  sud- 


no  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

denly  Samuel  Hodgkins's  pompadour  shot  up  before 
him.  He  laughed  out. 

"I  remember !"  he  said.  He  told  her  the  incident 
of  the  lily-poem.  She  watched  with  lazy  half-shut 
eyes  while  he  told  it. 

They  returned  to  the  house  and  she  poured  his 
tea.  John  laughed  and  talked  and  she  smiled  back 
lazily.  .  .  .  He  was  in  another  world.  This  was 
the  way  he  used  to  feel  in  Europe — he  remembered, 
with  the  old  churches  and  pictures — and  beautiful 
things  everywhere.  He  had  thought  then  he  should 
never  come  home.  He  wondered  a  little  now  why 
he  had  come. 

"Don't  you  get  homesick?"  he  asked  suddenly. 
She  was  pouring  fresh  water  on  the  silver  ball.  She 
paused  and  lifted  it  and  shook  it  a  little. 

"Homesick?"  she  asked.  She  raised  her  eye- 
brows a  trifle. 

"You  don't  belong  here,  you  know.  You  belong 
over  there  where  that  came  from."  He  nodded  to 
the  scarf. 

"Oh."  She  turned  her  head.  She  smiled  subtly. 
Her  father  was  coming  in. 

"Here  is  Mr.  Berwick,"  she  said  quietly.  "He 
brought  my  scarf.  Do  you  want  some  tea?" 

He  greeted  the  young  man  affably  and  took  the 
tea  and  chatted  a  few  minutes.  When  he  got  up  to 
go  he  left  John  with  a  pleasant  feeling  that  he  was  of 
importance. 

"  I  must  keep  an  engagement.  I  am  sorry.  Come 
again,  Berwick."  At  the  door  he  turned  back  care- 
lessly. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  in 

"Ah — what  is  the  best  time  I  wonder  to  see  your 
father —  When  is  he  most  likely  to  be  disengaged  ? 
I  am  going  to  be  in  Hanover  to-morrow.  I  thought 
I'd  run  in." 

"He's  not  at  home  now,"  said  John  regretfully. 
"He's  been  away  several  days." 

"You  don't  happen  to  know  his  address,  I  sup- 
pose ?  "  It  was  a  careless  question. 

"Sorry  I  don't,  sir.  He  was  going  west  I  believe — 
back  where  we  used  to  live —  But  I  didn't  ask  him." 

"It's  of  no  consequence,"  the  man  dismissed  it. 

But  John  Junior's  face  held  it  with  a  smile. 

"His  secretary  would  know — Miss  Merton.  I'll 
call  her  up!" 

' '  No-no, ' '-  B  raithwaite  laid  a  detaining  hand  on 
the  arm  of  the  young  man  as  he  came  toward  the  door. 

"It's  not  worth  the  trouble!  Besides—"  He 
took  out  his  watch  and  glanced  at  it.  "It's  after 
hours." 

John's  look  dropped  to  the  watch  with  a  quick 
exclamation. 

"Half  past  six!  You  must  forgive  me,  Miss 
B  raithwaite — for  staying  so  long!"  He  came  over 
to  the  table,  and  his  hostess  smiled  up  at  him  and 
held  out  her  friendly  hand. 

"Stay  to  dinner,  won't  you?  We  should  be  glad 
to  have  you." 

"Yes — stay,"  said  Braithwaite  from  the  door. 
But  John  shook  his  head. 

"I  should  never  get  away  if  I  stayed  as  long  as  I 
want  to,"  he  said  laughing.  "Thank  you  for  the 
tea." 


ii2  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"And  thank  you  for  my  scarf —  You  will  come 
again  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  shall  come  again.  I  shall  certainly  come 
again,"  he  said  with  emphasis.  She  smiled  slightly 
at  the  earnestness. 

"Bring  your  father  with  you  when  he  returns," 
she  said  lightly. 

"Father?"  John  started.  Then  he  laughed. 
"I  don't  believe  father  ever  took  afternoon-tea  in  his 
life ! "  he  asserted. 

"Time  he  did!"  she  responded.  "We'll  make 
him.  Tell  him  it  will  do  him  good." 

"I  am  sure  it  would,"  said  John,  "if  he  takes  it 
with  you ! " 

She  only  smiled  a  little.  And  when  he  bent  over 
her  hand  in  parting  if  there  was  a  little  more  empha- 
sis in  the  gesture  than  seemed  called  for,  she  did  not 
appear  to  notice. 

And  John  driving  home  toward  the  house  on  the 
hill  was  thinking  exultantly  and  swiftly  how  lucky 
it  was  he  carried  the  scarf  himself  instead  of  letting 
Isabel  send  it.  He  would  have  missed  a  very  pleas- 
ant afternoon  if  Isabel  had  sent  the  scarf  by  mail. 


XVIII 

THE  evening  was  cool,  and  Eben  Braithwaite 
seated  after  dinner  before  the  fire  in  the  library  held 
out  his  long  thin  hands  to  the  blaze  and  caressed  his 
fingers.  His  eyes  studied  the  leaping  flames.  There 
was  a  little  line  between  the  thoughtful  eyes. 

He  leaned  back  and  reached  to  the  pile  of  maga- 
zines beside  him  and  selected  a  weekly  and  spread 
it  on  his  knees. 

"By  the  way,  Nell — there's  something  I'd  like  you 
to  do  for  me,"  he  said  casually. 

She  put  down  her  novel. 

"Yes,  dad?" 

She  removed  the  cigarette  from  her  lips —  A 
light  cloud  of  thoughtful  smoke  blew  toward  him. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  quietly. 

He  turned  the  pages  of  the  weekly 

"Ask  that  little  girl  we  saw  the  other  day  in  Ber- 
wick's office  over  for  tea  some  day —  Will  you?" 

She  put  the  cigarette  to  her  lips  and  blew  a  puff 
— and  then  another. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dad  ?  "    The  tone  was  quiet. 

He  moved  an  assuring  hand. 

"Nothing." 

"Why  do  you  want  her?" 

"Business,"  he  replied. 

She  turned  it  over  and  shook  her  head  and  smiled 
across  at  him. 

113 


U4  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"I  don't  feel  sure  I  could  trust  you,"  she  said 
sternly. 

He  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  watching  her. 
The  weekly  lay  untouched  on  his  knee. 

"Oh  yes,  you  can  trust  me,"  he  said  lazily.  "I 
promise — to  play  fair.  ...  I  told  you  the  other 
day,  Nell,  I've  got  to  get  ahead  of  Berwick  if  we  stay 
here."  He  lifted  a  hand  from  the  arm  of  his  chair 
with  a  half-gesture  at  the  room.  It  included  the 
comfortable  flames  on  the  hearth. 

"We've  got  to  give  it  up — if  I  can't  put  this  thing 
over —  We  can't  go  off  to  Europe  the  way  we  used 
to — live  on  nothing,  with  a  care-taker  in  charge 
here.  All  that  Europe  business  is  off  for  a  good 
while.  The  war  knocked  it  silly!  We'll  have  to 
sell  out  if  we  can't  stay  on  here  in  comfort. 

She  glanced  about  her  with  a  little  shiver  and  a 
look  of  reluctance. 

" California ? "  she  asked.    "Japan ? " 

"Nothing  doing!"  he  returned.  "It  costs  too 
much!  The  good  old  days  are  over,  Nell!  .  .  . 
There  are  still  a  few  plums  left,"  he  added  reflec- 
tively, "and  Berwick's  getting  ready  to  pick  them. 
It's  only  a  question  of  his  basket — or  mine!"  She 
smiled  slightly. 

"I  don't  mind  asking  him  over,"  she  admitted. 
"That's  fair  fighting."  Her  eyes  seemed  to  see  the 
short  determined  figure,  and  she  laughed  out.  "He 
can  take  care  of  himself,"  she  said  almost  proudly. 
"But  this  little  girl — what  is  her  name?"  She 
leaned  forward. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  115 

" Merton,"  said  Braithwaite  shortly.  " Her  father 
keeps  that  hole  of  a  drug-store  where  we  stopped  to 
get  a  thermos  cork  one  day." 

"Oh-     I  remember- 

"Not  much  money  there,"  he  returned,  sugges- 
tively. She  made  no  reply.  Her  face  studied  the 
flames.  Her  cigarette  had  gone  out.  She  dropped 
it  to  the  tray  beside  her.  The  man  watched  her 
uneasily. 

"It's  just  between  me  and  Berwick,"  he  said, 
"which  of  us  gets  in  ahead — that's  all.  He's  got 
something.  I  can't  put  my  finger  on  it — not  yet. 
I've  written  to  an  address  I  happened  to  get  hold  of 
the  other  day.  I  was  going  to  go  on  there  myself." 
He  laughed  shortly.  "You  heard  what  young  Ber- 
wick said — that  his  father's  away?" 

"Yes." 

"He's  there  looking  things  over —  I'd  stake  any- 
thing you'd  like  on  it.  ...  But  he's  cautious— 
and  not  likely  to  strike  till  he  is  sure.  .  .  .  And  if 
I  could  talk  with  the  little  girl  I  have  an  idea  she 
knows  things.  She  would  give  him  away  without 
knowing  she  was  doing  it —  That's  fair!"  He 
looked  at  her  mquiringly.  She  assented. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  sighed.  "Well,  I'll  do 
it,  dad."  She  got  up.  "But  remember — I  shall 
watch  you  like  an  old  hen !  You  are  not  to  philander 
with  that  child.  It's  straight  business?"  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"All  I  want  is  a  chance  to  get  ahead  of  Berwick," 
he  said  curtly,  "and  get  some  money.  We've  got 


n6  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

to  have  money — or  go  to  the  dogs.  The  whole 
crowd  needs  money." 

She  passed  behind  the  back  of  his  chair,  and  her 
hand  touched  his  hair  and  ruffled  it  with  affectionate 
touch. 

"You  are  getting  gray,  old  man,"  she  said  lightly. 
He  picked  up  the  weekly. 

"I  shall  get  grayer — if  we  don't  look  out,"  he  re- 
plied. 

She  crossed  to  her  writing-desk  and  wrote  the  note 
and  tore  it  up  and  wrote  another. 

"How  will  that  do  ?  "  She  stood  behind  his  chair 
and  he  reached  up  a  hand  for  it 

MY  DEAR  Miss  MERTON, — 

I  enjoyed  our  little  visit  the  other  day  in  Mr.  Berwick's 
office,  and  I  am  writing  to  ask  if  you  will  not  come  some  day 
for  a  cup  of  tea  with  me.  I  do  not  know  about  trains,  but  if 
you  could  let  me  know  what  day  is  convenient  I  should  like 
to  send  the  car.  Then  I  shall  be  sure  to  be  at  home  and  not 
miss  you.  Cordially  yours, 

ELLEN  BRAITHWAITE. 

He  read  it  and  returned  it. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said.  "You  write  nice 
notes,  Nell.  I  only  hope  she  will  come." 

"Oh  she  will  come,"  said  Ellen.  She  was  sealing 
the  note,  looking  over  it  at  the  fire.  "She  will 
come,"  she  repeated  with  soft  decision. 

"Now  how  do  you  feel  so  sure?"  he  asked  teas- 
ingly.  The  lines  between  his  eyes  had  relaxed —  He 
smiled  and  reached  for  a  cigar. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  117 

She  seated  herself  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 

"She  will  come  because  she  is  a  woman,"  she  said. 
She  leaned  forward  looking  at  the  flames. 

He  paused,  with  the  lighted  match  at  the  end  of 
the  cigar. 

"Naturally,"  he  said  smiling. 

"That  means  because  she  will  be  curious,"  she 
added. 

He  tossed  away  the  match  and  drew  a  quick  breath 
and  let  it  out 

"Naturally  again!  But  curious  about  what?" 
He  puffed  easily.  He  was  at  peace  with  the  world. 
She  looked  at  him  with  amused  affectionate  eyes. 

"She  wifl  be  curious  why  I  asked  her,  and  that 
will  put  her  on  her  guard." 

"You  think  so?"  He  watched  the  smoke  lazily. 
"  Well,  I  will  risk  it—  A  little  girl  like  that." 


HER  mother  pointed  to  it  on  the  table  when  she 
came  in 

"There's  a  letter  for  you.  I  don't  know  anybody 
in  Camden  that  would  be  writing  to  you  ?  " 

Isabel  opened  it  and  read  it  slowly.  There  was  a 
little  flush  in  her  cheeks. 

"It's  from  Miss  Braithwaite,"  she  said.  "She 
wants  me  to  come  over  to  see  her  some  day." 

"What  for?"  said  her  mother. 

' '  Here,  you  can  read  it, "  said  the  girl.  She  handed 
it  to  her. 

"Of  course  I  can't  go,"  she  added. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  her  mother.  She  looked 
at  her  over  the  letter.  "Why  not,  I  should  like  to 
know!" 

"Well—"  Isabel  hesitated.  Then  a  smile 
touched  her  lip. 

"I  haven't  anything  to  wear — for  one  thing." 
It  was  as  good  a  reason  as  another.  .  .  .  Besides 
she  was  not  sure 

"Wear  your  new  dress,"  said  her  mother. 

"  My  new  dress  ? —    I  couldn't ! " 

"You  think  it  isn't  nice  enough,  I  suppose —  It's 
going  to  be  real  pretty ! "  she  added  quickly.  "  Miss 
Sparks  has  got  the  skirt  cut  out." 

"It's  too  nice — I  mean  too  dressed  up,  isn't  it— 

118 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

just  to  go  over  there  in  the  afternoon."  She  touched 
the  note. 

"  She  says  a  cup  of  tea,"  persisted  her  mother.  She 
too  touched  the  note  where  it  lay  between  them. 

"Well  anyway — it  isn't  finished,"  said  Isabel. 

"You  go  right  over  to  Miss  Sparks's  as  soon  as 
you've  had  your  supper.  You  tell  her  she  must 
work  on  it — so  you  can  have  it  to-morrow — or  next 
day  sure." 

"Why  mother!"  laughed  Isabel.  "I  never  knew 
you  to  act  so!" 

"I  want  you  to  have  good  tunes,"  said  her  mother 
quickly.  "That's  what  we  are  doing  the  dress  for, 
isn't  it — dyeing  it  and  fussing  over  it  and  all?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  ...  I  haven't  thought 
what  it  was  for.  I  just  wanted  it." 

"Well  that's  silly!  Clothes  are  made  to  wear. 
That's  what  they're  for!  You  don't  want  clothes 
unless  you  can  wear  'em,  do  you?" 

"I  don't  know!"  laughed  Isabel.  "But  I'll  go 
over  and  see  Miss  Sparks  after  supper —  It  can't 
do  any  harm,"  she  added. 

"  Harm !    I  should  think  not ! " 

"No,"  assented  Isabel.  But  there  was  a  little 
thoughtful  line  between  her  eyes  as  she  ate  her  sup- 
per. .  .  .  Why  should  Miss  Braithwaite  ask  her? 
She  saw  suddenly  the  tall  courteous  man  looking 
down  at  her  and  inquiring  suavely  for  a  forgotten 
scarf—  But  the  scarf  had  been  left.  It  was  in  John 
Junior's  office  then.  It  was  silly  to  be  suspicious  of 
any  one !  She  got  up. 


120  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"I'm  going  over  to  Miss  Sparks's  now,"  she  an- 
nounced. 

"Want  I  should  come  with  you?"  asked  her 
mother.  "I  can  leave  the  dishes."  It  was  half- 
wistful. 

"Yes,  you  come,"  said  Isabel.  "You  can  tell  me 
how  it  hangs." 

The  door  into  the  dressmaker's  back  room  stood 
ajar,  and  they  went  in.  The  dress  lay  on  the  bed, 
spread  like  a  gay  shroud  over  the  white  coverlid. 
The  mother  surveyed  it  with  quick  eager  eyes. 

"You've  got  it  out  real  good,  Miss  Sparks." 

"Yes,  I  had  pretty  good  luck,"  said  the  little 
dressmaker  modestly. 

"Want  to  try  it  on,  Bel?" 

Isabel  nodded.  There  was  a  shining  light  in  her 
eyes  that  spread  over  her  face.  She  took  off  the 
shabby  hat  in  its  blue  velvet  band  and  undid  the 
serge  dress,  letting  it  fall  about  her  feet.  It  lay  like 
a  calyx  sheath  about  her  as  she  stood  straight  and 
tall  and  unconscious  in  her  youth.  The  clean  white 
under-garments,  the  curves  of  her  arms  and  shoulders 
rising  from  them  to  the  neck  and  uplif ted  chin,  gave 
an  austere  half-awakened  charm  to  the  face  that  re- 
garded the  dress  on  the  bed  with  absorbed  look. 
Her  lips  were  parted  in  a  little  smile. 

"It's  going  to  be  lovely !"  she  said.  She  held  out 
her  arms  and  bent  her  head  to  receive  it. 

The  dressmaker  slipped  it  over  the  bent  head  and 
adjusted  the  folds  with  quick  touch.  The  kerosene 
lamp  lighted  up  her  puckered  face  as  she  circled 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  121 

about,  half-bending  and  looking  up  and  tapping  at 
the  clothed  figure. 

From  the  shadow  the  mother's  face  regarded  it 
happily. 

The  dressmaker  dropped  to  her  knees.  "Now  you 
turn  slow,  Bel,  while  I  pin,"  she  said  solemnly. 

She  filled  her  mouth  with  the  pins  and  bent  to  the 
floor,  inverting  her  head,  gazing  up  raptly. 

The  silk-clad  figure  revolved  slowly.  The  pins 
flew  at  it.  The  dressmaker  sat  back  on  her  heels— 

"You  think  that's  about  the  right  length,  Mis' 
Merton?"  she  mumbled  to  the  shadow  beyond  the 
lamp,  and  the  mother  leaned  forward. 

"Walk  off  a  little,  Bel,"  she  commanded.  Her 
eyes  followed  the  advancing  feet  with  stern 
glance 

"You  don't  think  it's  a  little  mite  too  short?" 

"They  wear  'em  awful  short,"  mumbled  the 
pins. 

"Yes,  I  know  they  do."    A  sigh  assented  to  it. 

"Well,  I  guess  that  will  do." 

The  feet  beneath  the  silk  folds  made  little  dancing 
tentative  steps  of  happiness. 

"  Stand  still,  Bel !    You'll  lose  out  the  pins ! " 

"Yes,  that  looks  good !"  The  mother  sank  back 
in  her  chair,  the  dressmaker  inverted  her  head  on 
the  floor,  and  the  silk  figure  revolved  again.  The 
dull  light  fell  on  it  and  reached  up  dimly  to  the 
flushed  cheeks  and  eyes  that  were  changing  to  the 
shining  light  of  stars. 

"I  declare,  Bel  Merton,  you  are  going  to  have  a 


122  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

lovely  dress  out  of  it ! "  The  dressmaker  sank  to  the 
floor  and  gazed. 

The  stars  looked  down  on  her. 

"How  does  it  fit  in  the  back?"  asked  Isabel. 

"Turn 'round!"  She  smoothed  it.  "It's  good! 
Fits  as  if  it  had  been  made  for  you ! "  She  laughed  at 
her  well-worn  joke. 

"Now  about  the  neck  and  sleeves — I  don't  just 
know — ?"  She  stood  off  with  half-closed  eyes 
gazing. 

"I'll  show  you,"  said  Isabel  quickly.  "I  know. 
I've  been  thinking  about  it —  Here,  if  you  have  a 
pencil  I  can  show  you."  She  took  the  pencil  and 
drew  swift  lines  on  the  back  of  an  envelope.  The 
dressmaker  looked  over  her  shoulder.  Her  face 
lighted  as  the  lines  grew. 

"Yes,  I  see.  That's  real  pretty!  .  .  .  And  you 
have  made  a  picture  of  yourself  besides!"  she 
laughed,  gazing  at  the  envelope.  The  mother  came 
forward  and  looked 

"Why  so 'tis,  Bel!" 

"Oh,  she's  prettier  than  I  am,"  said  the  girl 
carelessly.  She  put  the  envelope  aside.  "But 
it's  the  way  I'm  going  to  do  my  hair.  You  have  to 
see  the  whole  thing — to  know  about  the  neck. 
That's  the  way  it  ought  to  look." 

"Yes,  I  can  make  it  like  that."  The  dressmaker 
returned  to  it  lingeringly.  "I  shall  keep  it  and  use 
it." 

But  the  girl  turned  swiftly  in  the  shimmering  blue 
robe 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  123 

"You  mustn't  use  it  for  anybody,  Miss  Sparks — 
not  a  single  soul  except  me ! " 

"  Oh — ! "  fluttered  the  dressmaker.  Her  eyes  pro- 
tested feebly. 

"Not  for  any  one!"  laughed  Isabel.  She  shook 
her  head.  "I  will  draw  you  necks — dozens  of  them 
—if  you  want!  But  they  have  to  be  different  for 
different  people,  you  know !" 

"Oh,  do  they?"  It  was  out  of  uncertain  depths. 
Something  in  the  stars  above  the  robe  compelled 
obedience. 

"All  right,  Bel.  I  won't  use  it  except  on  this  dress, 
but  you  remember  you've  promised  to  draw  me 
another  one,  you  know." 

"Of  course.  I'd  love  to!"  said  Isabel.  "It's 
fun!" 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  or  to  the  dressmaker  or  to 
the  shadow  beyond  the  lamp  that  the  rapidly 
sketched  head  on  the  old  envelope  growing  under  the 
swift  fingers  out  of  a  vision  within  was  of  the  nature 
of  a  miracle. 

She  could  do  "dozens  of  them,"  and  the  dress- 
maker accepted  it  with  placid  smile. 

"Turn  around  again,"  she  commanded.  "Yes, 
that's  all  right!" 

"Bel  wants  it  to  wear  to-morrow  or  next  day," 
ventured  the  mother. 

"To-morrow!"  The  little  woman  wheeled. 
"Why— I  couldn't!" 

"Well — next  day,  maybe?" 

"  I  can  have  it  done  by  Thursday,"  she  said  sternly, 


124  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"and  not  a  day  sooner.  You  see  there's  all  that 
pleating  to  do!" 

"Will  that  do,  do  you  think,  Bel?"  asked  the 
mother. 

"Why  of  course.  There  isn't  any  such  hurry. . . . 
And  I  may  not  go,"  she  said  slowly. 

The  dressmaker  glanced  sharply  at  the  shadow  in 
the  corner.  "You  don't  seem  to  agree,"  she  said 
dryly. 

"  She's  had  an  invitation  over  to  the  Eben  Braith- 
waite's  in  Camden —  You  know  he  run  for  gov- 
ernor once?" 

The  dressmaker  nodded.  Her  eyes  narrowed  to 
the  dress.  "Well,  I'll  try  to  get  it  done  by  Wednes- 
day—  You  don't  want  to  miss  any  good  times." 

"All  right,"  said  the  girl.  She  held  out  her  arms. 
The  dressmaker  drew  off  the  dress  with  careful  touch, 
and  Isabel  stepped  out  from  the  row  of  encircling 
pins. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  shall  go,  but  if  I  do  I'd  like 
to  wear  it.  You've  made  it  real  pretty ! " 

"I  think  it  looks  good  myself — made  out  of  old  so. 
It's  nice  silk,  and  soft.  I  do'no'  but  it  hangs 
better'n  the  silks  they  make  now.  I'll  have  it  done, 
Bel,  and  you  wear  it.  You'll  look  real  pretty  in  it ! " 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE  Braithwaite  house  stood  a  little  back  from  the 
street  and  a  curved  drive  led  to  the  porte  cochere  at 
the  side.  A  concrete  walk  following  the  curve  of  the 
drive  branched  off  to  a  large  door  facing  the  street. 

Isabel,  coming  up  the  walk,  half-paused.  She 
glanced  doubtfully  at  the  house.  Through  the  open 
door  and  windows  came  a  sound  of  voices — laugh- 
ing, talking — and  the  faint  music  of  violins.  She 
walked  more  slowly.  She  wanted  to  turn  back. 
She  had  not  thought  there  would  be  people. 

She  had  not  sent  Miss  Braithwaite  word  of  her 
coming,  because  she  wanted  to  buy  a  hat.  She  could 
not  ask  the  Braithwaite's  car  to  wait  for  her  while 
she  bought  a  hat !  So  she  had  come  alone  by  train 
and  stopped  on  the  way  from  the  station.  ...  It 
was  a  charming  hat.  She  knew  the  minute  she  saw 
it  in  the  window  that  she  would  buy  it. 

The  hat  gave  her  courage  to  go  the  few  steps 
further.  Then  in  sight  of  the  door  she  almost  faced 
about  and  ran. 

Two  young  men  were  coming  down  the  steps. 
They  wore  silk  hats  and  carried  canes,  and  the  canes 
and  the  hats  stepped  lightly.  The  smooth-shaven 
faces  were  set  well  ahead.  They  moved  past  her 
without  a  glance. 

Her  head  Hf ted  itself.    A  flush  touched  her  face. 

125 


126  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Jove !  That  was  a  pretty  girl !"  murmured  one 
of  the  hats.  They  were  well  down  the  walk  swinging 
along.  The  words  could  not  possibly  reach  to  the 
girl  mounting  the  steps. 

She  held  her  head  high.  There  were  dragons 
inside  and  dragons  behind — in  silk  hats!  She  felt 
suddenly  sick  and  a  little  faint.  .  .  .  But  she  would 
not  turn  back ! 

A  maid  standing  in  the  hall  motioned  her  toward 
the  room  beyond  where  the  sound  of  battle  raged 
thickest.  .  .  .  She  pressed  forward—  A  little  mist 
obscured  the  foreground.  Beyond  it,  looking  toward 
her  from  the  swaying  heads  she  saw  Ellen  Braith- 
waite's  face.  She  went  forward  to  it  and  the  face 
was  moving  toward  her  with  inquiring  gaze.  Ellen 
Braithwaite's  near-sighted  eyes  came  near  her  and 
Ellen  Braithwaite's  mind  searched  swiftly—  Now 
who  was  it — with  eyes  like  stars,  and  the  adorable 
waiting  look.  .  .  .  ? 

The  adorable  face  was  smiling  quietly  at  her. 
There  was  no  sign  of  the  thumping  heart  down  under- 
neath. 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  come  at  the  wrong  time— 
I'm  Isabel  Merton." 

"Miss  Merton!  Of  course!  I  am  so  glad  to 
see  you ! "  She  took  her  hand  with  a  look  of  relief 
and  reached  out  to  a  passing  young  man. 

"Oh  Chauncey ! "  He  turned  with  a  look  of  bore- 
dom. Then  he  looked  again —  His  face  lighted 
and  he  sprang  forward. 

"Yes,  Miss  Braithwaite?"  he  said  eagerly. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  127 

"I  want  you  to  meet  Miss  Merton,"  said  Ellen 
Braithwaite. 

He  bowed  deeply  from  the  hips  and  recovered  him- 
self. The  tips  of  his  fingers  remained  inside  the  slits 
of  his  pockets. 

"Awfully  nice  day!"  he  said  deeply.  Ellen 
Braithwaite  touched  his  arm. 

"I  am  going  to  get  Miss  Merton  a  cup  of  tea, 
Chauncey.  Don't  stir  from  here." 

"Oh,  I  sha'n't  stir!"  The  young  man  laughed 
happily.  He  glanced  at  the  girl  beside  him.  She 
was  not  regarding  him.  Her  eyes  were  on  the  crowd. 
She  held  her  head  high. 

"Top-notch!"  thought  the  young  man  swiftly. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  she  was  frightened — 
that  the  poise  of  her  head  was  that  of  a  wild  thing 
at  bay.  He  saw  only  the  pride  and  the  eyes  that 
made  him  think  of  spaces  of  wide  sky  at  night. 

"Stuffy  crowd!"  he  murmured  apologetically. 

She  nodded.  She  wondered  when  the  cord  about 
her  throat  would  relax — and  if  she  could  speak  if 
she  tried  to. 

"Let's  get  out  of  it,"  he  said.  He  motioned  to 
the  French  window  beside  them  open  to  the  terrace. 
"It's  cool  out  there." 

She  gave  a  fleeting  longing  glance  to  the  window. 
.  .  .  "But  Miss  Braithwaite,"  she  said,  "she  ex- 
pects to  find  us  here."  It  was  the  quiet  tone  of 
acceptance  and  despair — but  it  might  have  been 
indifferent  scorn. 

"Squelched!"  thought  the  young  man  swiftly. 


128  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

He  thrust  the  finger-tips  a  little  deeper  into  the 
pocket  slits. 

"You  are  not  from  Camden?"  he  said  with  defer- 
ence. 

«Oh,  no!" 

"I  thought  not.  I  know  every  one  here.  We 
get  pretty  well  used  to  each  other,  a  place  like  this. 
Same  faces  every  time."  He  spoke  as  a  man  of  the 
larger  world  to  one  belonging  to  that  world. 

Her  throat  contracted.  She  wanted  to  tell  him 
she  worked  in  Berwick's  Mill — had  worked  there 
ever  since  she  was  fourteen.  ...  She  wished  he 
would  go  away  and  not  stand  staring  at  her,  his 
head  a  little  to  one  side — like  a  chickadee.  .  .  . 
Yes,  that  was  exactly  what  he  was  like — a  chickadee 
and  a  smooth  black  cap!  The  smile  touched  her 
lip  and  curved  it. 

He  recovered  hope  of  the  curve —  "Nice  thing 
they're  playing!"  He  motioned  where  the  violins 
behind  the  palms  were  drawing  soft  strings. 

"Fine  to  dance  to !"  he  added. 

"Yes?"  She  turned  her  head  to  listen.  It  was 
the  first  tune  the  sound  of  the  music  had  reached  her 
ear.  Her  face  lighted  and  she  turned  it  to  him— 
The  glow  in  her  eyes  deepened. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful !"  she  breathed.    He  scored. 

"Ever  dance  to  it?" 

"No."  They  were  silent,  listening  to  the  violins. 
She  opened  her  lips,  reluctant. 

"I  don't  know  how."    He  turned  his  face 

"What  do  you  mean?" 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  129 

"I  don't  know  how,"  she  repeated.  "I've  never 
learned  to  dance."  He  laughed. 

"You  don't  expect  me  to  believe  that!"  He 
looked  at  the  light-swaying  figure — the  poised  head 
and  the  mobile  face  touched  by  the  music  of  the 
violins. 

"Why,  you  are  the  dance !"  he  said,  "all  by  your- 
self." He  turned.  Ellen  Braithwaite  had  come  up. 
She  was  shielding  a  cup  of  tea  from  the  crowd. 

"Here ! "    He  took  it  from  her  with  careful  hand. 

"  You  should  have  sent  me ! "  he  said  reproachfully. 

"I  wanted  you  and  Miss  Merton  to  get  ac- 
quainted." 

"  Yes  ?  Well,  we  are —  Aren't  we ! "  He  turned 
to  the  girl,  holding  out  the  cup  to  her. 

"We've  got  so  much  acquainted  she's  been  kid- 
ding me ! "  he  said  laughing. 

"  Oh,  no,"  murmured  Isabel. 

"What  did  she  say?"  asked  Ellen  Braithwaite. 
She  was  amused  and  curious. 

"  Said  she'd  never  danced !    Didn't  know  how." 

Ellen  Braithwaite  looked  at  her.    The  girl  as-] 
sented  quietly. 

"I've  never  learned,"  she  said. 

"But  don't  you  want  to?" 

"Of  course!    Doesn't  everyone  want  to?"  "It] 
was  a  quick  flash. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  turned  with  a  look  of  pleasure 
to  the  young  man. 

"Go  and  find  Ka^ie  for  me,  Chauncey.  Tell  her 
we  want  the  floor  cleared  for  dancing.  She  knows 


130  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

what  to  do!"  She  glanced  at  Isabel.  Her  face  was 
glowing. 

"I'm  going  to  teach  you  myself,"  she  said.  "Fm 
so  glad  you  told  us.  They  will  all  like  it — to  dance. 
I  didn't  have  the  rugs  taken  up  because  it's  a  bother. 
It  was  just  selfishness  in  me!" 

She  watched  the  two  men  who  entered  at  the  rear. 
They  rolled  the  rugs  with  swift  efficient  turns  and 
carried  them  off.  She  motioned  one  of  them  to 
her  side. 

"Bring  in  the  victrola,  Thomas — from  the  li- 
brary," she  directed. 

"Yes,  miss."    The  man  moved  away. 

The  crowd  drew  back  to  the  edge  of  the  room. 
Faces  lighted  up,  wraps  were  tossed  aside.  Feet 
began  to  take  the  music  of  the  violins. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  went  toward  the  palms  and 
spoke  to  the  players.  The  music  ceased. 

"We'll  use  the  victrola,"  she  said,  returning  to 
Isabel.  "It  is  more  even,  and  the  men  are  tired. 
They've  played  all  the  afternoon."  Her  face  had 
a  light  of  quick  interest.  She  hummed  a  little  as 
they  waited.  ...  It  appealed  to  her  to  teach  this 
quiet  frank  girl  to  dance.  She  had  not  expected 
anything  so  entertaining  from  her  day  at  home. 

Dancing  was  a  passion  with  Ellen  Braithwaite, 
but  it  was  a  passion  she  did  not  often  indulge  in 
Camden.  .  .  .  Her  hand  rested  on  the  girl's 
shoulder,  her  eyes  scanned  the  room.  One  or  two 
couples  took  the  floor,  they  were  moving  to  the  music 
lightly. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  131 

Isabel's  glance  followed  them. 

"I  can  never  do  it,"  she  murmured. 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  simple !  Just  swing  to  the  music — 
and  trust  me ! " 

Isabel  cast  her  a  swift  look.  She  would  have 
liked  to  turn  her  cheek  and  brush  the  hand  resting 
on  her  shoulder. 

"I  can  trust  you,"  she  said.    "That's  easy ! " 

The  hand  tightened.  An  arm  was  about  her 
waist  firm  and  close.  She  felt  herself  swung — lifted 
and  caught  by  the  music  and  borne  on. 

"One- two-three,  one- two- three !"  The  monot- 
onous lulling  voice  was  close  to  her  ear.  Her  feet 
caught  the  lilt  and  swayed  to  it. 

Her  cheeks  flushed.  Her  breath  came  quickly. 
The  music  drenched  her  and  poured  through  her, 
and  sped  in  swift-moving  feet  across  the  shining 
floor.  .  .  .  She  and  Ellen  Braithwaite  were  one, 
moving  through  space  swaying  to  the  music.  .  .  . 

She  came  to  herself  sharply.  They  had  stopped 
by  the  palms.  Ellen  Braithwaite  was  smiling  at  her 
with  friendly  eyes.  Isabel's  hand  was  pressed  to  her 
side  and  she  breathed  quickly.  Ellen  Braithwaite 
nodded  laughingly. 

"I  knew  you  could  dance!"  she  said.  "It  was 
fine!" 

The  girl  looked  at  her  shyly.  She  felt  they  shared 
a  secret.  She  wanted  to  run  away  home  with  it, 
look  at  it,  and  keep  it  safe. 

But  the  young  man  was  pressing  forward 

"I  say,  Miss  Merton,  you  cheated  a  little,  didn't 


132  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

you?"  He  held  out  his  hands.  "I  hope  you'll 
give  me  one  to  make  up  ?  "  She  drew  back. 

"But  I  really  can't!  I  don't  know  how!"  He 
cast  an  amused  glance  at  Ellen  Braithwaite.  She 
nodded  to  Isabel. 

"Try  it,"  she  said. 

"He'll  be  sorry !"  returned  the  girl.  She  made  a 
little  wry  face  but  she  placed  her  hand  obediently 
on  his  shoulder.  He  moved  back  with  tripping 
efficient  steps. 

She  followed  haltingly. 

After  a  minute  they  stopped.    He  bit  his  lip. 

"We  don't  quite  get  it,  do  we,"  he  said  smoothly. 
"Now — we  will  try  once  more!" 

They  came  to  a  disastrous  pause  by  the  wall. 
He  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  brow. 
Isabel  was  looking  at  him  with  amused  vexed  glance. 
Her  face  wore  a  deep  flush. 

"I  told  you  I  couldn't!"  she  said  in  a  low  tense 
voice.  She  wanted  to  go  home.  She  wanted  to 
sink  through  the  floor  where  every  one  else  was  sway- 
ing happily  and  lightly.  The  thought  of  Ellen 
Braithwaite  and  those  wonderful  minutes  while 
they  floated  in  space  mocked  her.  She  looked  at  the 
man  beside  her  with  rebellious  eyes.  He  replaced 
the  handkerchief. 

"I'm  going  to  teach  you,"  he  said  firmly.  He 
pushed  up  his  cuffs.  "Come  into  the  next  room !" 

They  found  a  clear  space  in  the  library.  The 
sound  of  the  victrola  reached  them  faintly.  He 
supplemented  it  with  light  humming  notes  and 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  133 

counted  sternly.  He  taught  her  the  steps  and  took 
them  apart  and  put  them  together  in  endless  repeti- 
tion. She  caught  the  rhythm  at  last  and  swung  to 
it  hi  confidence. 

"Come  on !"  he  said  exultingly.  "That's  fine !" 
They  returned  to  the  dancers,  and  he  guided  her  into 
the  stream,  holding  her  with  firm  imperious  hand. 
They  came  to  a  halt  by  Ellen  Braithwaite,  breathless. 

She  drew  the  girl  to  her.  "  Splendid,  Chauncey ! " 
she  said  approvingly.  "Miss  Merton  must  rest 
now.  Run  along  and  dance  with  some  one  else." 

"I'd  as  soon  stay  here,"  he  replied. 

"Run  along,"  she  said  severely. 

"We'll  try  it  again?"  He  withdrew  with  a  deep 
bow.  They  watched  him  mingle  hi  the  dance.  He 
was  guiding  a  girl  with  wide  red  girdle.  She  danced 
with  happy  clicking  steps.  They  moved  as  one. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  watched  them,  smiling.  She 
stood  with  her  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder.  She 
looked  at  her. 

"  Tired  ?  "  she  asked.  Isabel  shook  her  head.  She 
lifted  her  face.  Her  lip  was  trembling.  The  hand 
on  her  shoulder  tightened  a  little. 

"You  are  a  dear!"  said  Ellen  Braithwaite  under 
her  breath.  "And  your  dress  is  adorable!  You 
don't  mind  my  saying  it  ?  "  She  moved  back  a  little, 
looking  and  nodding —  "  It  suits  you  to  perfection !" 
Her  eyes  dwelt  on  the  girl. 

And  swiftly  across  Isabel's  vision  passed  a  dull 
tired  face  and  her  mother's  voice.  .  .  .  "It'll  look 
real  pretty  when  it's  dyed." 


134  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"I  ought  to  go  home !"  she  said  passionately. 

"No — not  yet!"  The  hand  rested  on  her  shoul- 
der. "I  want  to  introduce  some  one  to  you.  .  .. 
And  by  and  by  you  and  I  will  dance  again ! " 

She  brought  up  a  young  man  with  very  stiff  up- 
right hair.  Isabel  found  he  danced  with  a  step  and 
a  rhythm  very  different  from  Chauncey's.  But  she 
was  more  at  ease  now.  She  discovered  she  must 
yield  quickly — think  only  of  her  partner  and  his  sense 
of  the  rhythm.  .  .  .  She  saw  suddenly  John  Senior's 
rugged  face.  She  heard  his  gruff  dictating  voice- 
That  was  the  way !  Just  as  you  did  with  John  Sen- 
ior !  You  got  his  pace  and  swung  to  it.  ...  She 
was  almost  happy,  dipping  and  bobbing  to  the  ec- 
centric young  man's  idea  of  the  music ! 

"You're  great,"  he  said  admiringly.  "Ever  dance 
it  before?" 

"No."    Her  face  dimpled. 

He  brought  her  to  rest  with  a  final  flourish  and 
a  deep  bow. 

"We'll  try  that  again  some  time!"  He  was 
breathing  fast. 

"Yes,"  said  Isabel.  She  had  emerged  from  her 
chrysalis.  .  .  .  She  knew  they  were  wings.  She 
folded  them  serenely  on  her  back.  .  .  .  They 
opened  and  closed  a  little  softly.  By  and  by  she 
would  fly  away  with  them. 

The  faces  pressed  about  her.  They  liked  her! 
She  liked  them.  .  .  .  She  did  not  hear  the  whispered 
word  passed  through  the  room  that  the  girl  in  the 
blue  dress  had  never  danced  before.  She  did  not 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  135 

know  she  was  helped  at  every  turn,  or  that  the 
radiance  in  her  was  a  centre  of  light  in  the  room. 

She  only  knew  that  her  heart  overflowed  with 
dancing. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  watched  it  all  with  careful  eyes 
— a  word  here,  a  touch  there.  She  guided  things  to 
her  liking  jealously.  The  child  must  not  be  made 
self-conscious.  Only  let  her  dance  like  that  a  little 
while.  .  .  .  She  claimed  her  again,  and  they  danced 
with  a  slow  swaying  movement  that  filled  the  girl 
with  happiness  and  love.  .  .  .  She  felt  she  could 
lay  down  her  life  for  Ellen  Braithwaite.  It  would 
be  easy  to  die  for  her !  If  there  were  only  something 
she  could  do  to  make  her  understand.  She  looked 
up  shyly  as  they  came  to  rest  for  a  moment.  Ellen 
Braithwaite  had  not  relaxed  her  hold.  They  stood 
close,  looking  in  each  other's  eyes. 

And  suddenly  across  Isabel's  vision  swept  the  rain- 
drenched  windows  and  a  woman's  white  face  looking 
down  at  her  hungrily.  .  .  .  Then  the  gay  little 
rain-coat  wrapped  about  her.  .  .  . 

"Now  one  more — "  said  Ellen  Braithwaite's  voice 
close  to  her.  "Then  I  must  let  you  go!"  They 
swung  into  the  movement,  drifting  on.  .  .  . 

The  others  drew  back  and  cleared  a  space  to 
watch  them.  There  was  something  almost  profes- 
sional in  the  two  figures  moving  with  easy  precision 
and  rhythm. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  had  studied  with  the  masters 
of  dancing  in  every  country.  There  was  no  uncon- 
sciousness in  the  watchful  skill  that  guided  the  dance 


136  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

and  wove  its  moving  pattern  of  advance  and  retreat 
and  quick  drifting  embrace.  .  .  .  They  moved 
apart  and  came  together  by  a  spell,  stately  or 
laughing  or  full  of  gentle  languor  as  she  willed. 

And  the  crowd  of  dancers  looked  on  and  applauded. 
A  witchery  was  in  the  air. 


XXI 

JOHN  JR.  in  the  doorway  overlooked  the  crowd. 
He  gazed  almost  hostilely  at  the  two  figures  moving 
in  slow  rhythm.  .  .  .  He  was  annoyed  to  find  the 
crowd  here  to-day  and  Ellen  Braithwaite  dancing. 
.  .  .  He  wanted  to  see  her  alone.  There  were  all 
sorts  of  things  he  wanted  to  say  to  her.  He  had  been 
thinking  them  over,  looking  forward  to  seeing  her— 
ever  since  the  day  he  brought  home  the  scarf. 

His  gaze  dwelt  moodily  on  the  two  figures  moving 
in  the  centre  of  the  room.  .  .  .  The  music  was 
nearing  the  end.  It  deepened  and  swung  more 
swiftly.  He  was  caught  up  by  it.  He  seemed  to 
be  dancing  with  them.  Everyone  was  dancing.  .  .  . 

The  crowd  swayed  a  little.  They  were  laughing 
and  applauding.  He  pressed  forward  with  them 

And  Isabel  turned  and  smiled 

He  stared.    He  thrust  back  the  lock  of  hair. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  held  out  her  hand —  "You  are 
just  in  time,"  she  said  smilingly,  "for  one  dance  with 
Miss  Merton." 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  quickly. 

They  were  still  holding  hands  and  swaying  together 
subtly.  The  music  had  begun  again.  The  dancers 
were  taking  the  floor. 

And  John  Junior  saw  that  they  were  both  beauti- 
ful and  desirable  ...  so  beautiful  he  could  not  take 

137 


138  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

his  eyes  from  either  of  them.  He  wanted  to  dance 
with  them  both ! 

"I  don't  understand  it !"  he  faltered. 

"Nobody  does!"  laughed  Ellen  Braithwaite. 
"We  are  bewitched !"  She  placed  the  girl's  hand  in 
his 

"Just  once  around,"  she  said.  "There  is  not  much 
time."  She  left  them  with  a  word. 

"I  did  not  know  you  could  dance,"  said  John 
Junior  stiffly. 

"I  can't.  I  am  Cinderella.  ...  I  ought  to  go 
home." 

He  seized  her  firmly —  "Not  till  we've  had  our 
dance."  All  the  freshness  of  the  spring  went  drifting 
down  the  room  with  them.  .  .  . 

"We  will  never  stop !"  He  was  looking  down  at 
her. 

"  I  must  go !    I  shall  miss  my  train ! " 

"I  shall  take  you  home  myself !"  He  was  abrupt 
and  masterful 

"Oh,  no!  Please!"  She  broke  from  him  hur- 
riedly. He  moved  behind  her.  Ellen  Braithwaite 
came  to  them. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  must  go ! "  said  Isabel.   "  I  shall  miss  my  train." 

"But  I  am  going  to  drive  you  over,"  said  Ellen. 
"  I  am  looking  f orward  to  it.  I  need  the  air.  Wait 
till  they  go — there's  a  dear ! "  She  pressed  her  back 
gently,  and  the  girl  yielded  with  a  happy  sigh.  Ellen 
looked  at  her. 

"You  are  tired!"  she  said.  "Don't  dance  any 
more.  They  will  be  going  now." 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  139 

She  moved  away,  but  a  touch  on  her  arm  held  her. 
She  looked  up.  Her  father  stood  there. 

"Introduce  me  to  your  little  friend,  Nell."  He 
nodded  carelessly.  "I  saw  her  dancing  with  Ber- 
wick. Mighty  pretty  dancer!"  He  looked  at 
the  girl  approvingly.  She  was  sitting,  watching 
the  crowd  with  absorbed  face.  She  turned  the  face 
to  them—  There  was  almost  dismay  in  the  quick 
glance  of  withdrawal. 

Why,  it's — the  .  .  .  the  little  girl  in  the  office,"  said 
Braithwaite  with  a  smile.  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  here,"  he  said  courteously. 
"I  didn't  know  you!" 

"I  am  just  going,"  said  Isabel,  breathless.  Her 
dreams  were  tumbling  about  her,  shrieking  at  her, 
mocking  her. 

"Yes."  Ellen  Braithwaite  tucked  her  arm  into 
the  girl's.  "Yes,  we're  off,  father.  I'm  going  to 
drive  her  home."  She  turned  away. 

"Have  her  stay  to  dinner."  Braithwaite  followed 
them. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Ellen  Braithwaite  looked  at  Isabel 
inquiringly.  "  We'd  love  to  have  you ! " 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head  in  a  kind  of  frantic 
haste  it  seemed. 

"Oh—  I  can't —  I  can't!  I  must  go  home — 
right  off!" 

"Yes,  child!  We  are  going,  right  now!"  said 
Ellen  Braithwaite.  She  laughed  quietly. 

In  the  car  she  leaned  back  with  a  quick  sigh. 
"We  had  a  nice  time,  didn't  we?" 


140  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"I  can't  tell  you!"  said  the  girl.  The  tone  was 
almost  fierce  in  its  repression. 

"And  yet  you  were  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  away !" 
Ellen  Braithwaite  smiled  at  her.  "You  wouldn't 
have  stayed  to  dinner  for  worlds ! " 

"No—  But  that  was  just  it.  ...  I'd  had  so 
much  happiness  I  couldn't  stand  another  bit!  I 
felt  as  if  I  should  burst  if  anything  more  that  was 
lovely  happened  to  me !"  She  knew  the  words  were 
true  and  she  did  not  search  below  them. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  reached  a  hand  to  hers  lying  in 
her  lap  and  covered  it  quietly. 

"You  must  come  again !    You  must  come  often." 

Her  eyes  strayed  over  the  slight  figure  sitting  erect 
— the  eager  face  and  lifted  head  .  .  .  and  her  glance 
took  in  slowly  the  details  of  the  girl's  dress  and  hat. 
There  was  something  quaint  and  odd  about  them 

"Your  gown  is  charming!"  she  said,  "and  the 
color  is  perfect  for  your  hair  and  eyes.  How  did  you 
manage  it?" 

The  girl  cast  a  swift  merry  glance —  "My 
mother  dyed  it,"  she  said. 

"No!" 

Isabel  nodded.  "Dipped  it  three  times  to  get  it 
right."  She  laughed  happily. 

The  woman  frowned.  She  bent  forward  and 
touched  it  with  thoughtful  hand 

"I  wish  I  had  one  like  it — just  that  shade—  You 
don't  suppose  she  would  dye  it  for  me,  do  you?" 

"Oh — no!"  said  Isabel  in  quick  dismay.  "You 
mustn't!" 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  141 

The  woman's  hand  withdrew  a  little. 

"You  don't  want  me  to  have  it?" 

"Not  like  this,"  said  Isabel  miserably.  "Don't 
you  know — ! "  She  hesitated  and  bit  her  lip. 

The  woman's  eyes  smiled  a  little.     "Well?" 

Isabel's  glance  lifted  quickly —  "You  ought  to 
have  something  deep — that  glows! —  Fire  in  it!" 
She  said  it  swiftly. 

"Pretty !"  murmured  the  woman. 

"And  straight  close  lines,"  went  on  the  girl.  Her 
eyes  glowed  to  it.  She  leaned  forward,  looking  up  at 
the  face  that  laughed  and  regarded  her  with  gentle 
irony. 

"Go  on,"  murmured  Ellen  Braithwaite. 

"And  your  hah*  done  up  high  and  close — oh,  very 
severe !  I  could  do  it  for  you !  And  everything  sim- 
ple, you  know — simple  lines — and  not  a  furbelow 
anywhere.  Not  these — or  these ! "  She  touched  the 
floating  ends  with  respectful  disdaining  finger  and 
Ellen  Braithwaite  laughed  out  happily. 

"You  child!  "she  said. 

"I  would  love  to,"  responded  Isabel.  "I've 
wanted  to  ever  since  I  saw  you  in  the  office." 

"Oh — in  the  office!"  mused  Ellen  Braithwaite. 
Her  eyes  went  back  to  it.  "  How  long  ago  it  seems ! ' ' 
She  sighed  and  moved  a  little  restively. 

"Not  so  very  long,"  said  Isabel. 

"No— but  it  seems  long—  Tell  me!"  She  laid 
her  hand  on  the  girl's  again.  "Would  you  be  willing 
to  come  to  us,  I  wonder  ? " 

"  Come — to  ?  "    Isabel's  lips  parted. 


142  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"My  father  wants  a  stenographer — I  told  him  I 
would  ask  you."  The  words  hurried  a  little,  but 
they  seemed  curiously  reluctant. 

"He  would  pay  you  whatever  you  are  getting  now 
— and  more." 

Isabel's  eyes  were  thoughtful. 

"I  couldn't  do  it —  The  trains  don't  run  right." 
She  spoke  with  relief.  The  trains  ended  it. 

"But  you  would  live  with  us,  of  course !" 

"Live  with  you!"  The  wonder  of  it  seemed  to 
play  about  her  for  a  moment.  It  left  her  breathless. 

She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "No,  I  couldn't  do 
that.  I  couldn't  go  away  from  home." 

"Why  not?" 

The  girl's  eyes  grew  dark.  She  seemed  gazing  at 
something  beyond  them — beyond  the  trees  that 
slipped  by  the  swift-moving  car  on  either  side. 

"I  don't  know  why,"  she  said  slowly.  "If  I  went 
to  you  like  that  I  should  change — I  should  be  dif- 
ferent." 

The  woman's  hand  on  hers  tightened.  "It  should 
not  hurt  you,"  she  said  swiftly.  "No  one  should 
hurt  you ! "  The  words  were  quick. 

Isabel  turned  a  quiet  smile. 

"I  am  different  now — just  a  few  hours — and  I  am 
different.  I  feel  as  if  myself  was  waiting  for  me 
there  at  home."  She  nodded  her  head.  "Waiting 
for  me  to  put  it  on  when  I  come  home  and  take  off 
this  dress."  Her  face  grew  wistful. 

"I've  had  a  heavenly  time!"  she  sighed. 

The  woman  laughed  out.    She  drew  her  to  her  and 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  143 

kissed  her.  .  .  .  And  swiftly  Isabel  saw  a  white  face 
and  the  drenching  storm  on  the  hill. 

"Child!"  said  Ellen  Braithwaite.  "You  shall 
stay  just  as  you  are !  I  will  tell  my  father  he  can't 
have  you.  .  .  .  But  you  must  come  to  us  often." 

"I  do  not  have  much  time,  you  know,"  said  the 
girl  soberly.  "I  work." 

"We  will  make  time  for  you.  ...  I  can't  lose 
you,  child!  Don't  you  know  you  have  brought 
the  spring  to  me ! " 

The  car  slid  to  a  quiet  stop.  Ellen  Braithwaite 
leaned  forward  and  peered  out  toward  the  small 
house. 

"Good-by,"  she  said.  "I  know  now  where  you 
live.  I  shall  come  for  you.  Good-by!" 


XXII 

SHE  opened  the  door,  breathless,  and  stepped  m. 
Her  mother  looked  up 

"Why  where  have  you  been,  Bel?  I've  worried 
about  you.  The  train's  in  over  an  hour  ago ! " 

"I  didn't  come  by  train.  Miss  Braithwaite 
brought  me " 

Jimmie  was  looking  at  her  admiringly.  He  darted 
to  the  window. 

"In  her  car !  Gee — !"  He  thrust  his  head  under 
the  shade.  He  emerged  chagrined. 

"  Gone ! "  he  said.    She  smiled. 

"  Of  course,  Jimmie ! —    It  goes  like  the  wind ! " 

She  sat  down  with  her  arms  stretched  on  the  table 
before  her.  She  was  gazing  straight  ahead  with  un- 
seeing eyes. 

Her  mother  looked  at  her.  She  surveyed  the  new 
dress  with  proud  critical  eyes.  "Did  you  have  a 
good  time?" 

The  girl's  head  dropped  to  her  arms.  Her  shoul- 
ders moved — a  long  shivering  sob — and  another  and 
another — shaking  her  steadily. 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  the  woman. 
"What's  happened  to  you,  Bel?" 

The  girl  lifted  her  face — tears  running  helplessly 
down. 

"I'm  so  happy !"  she  sobbed.  She  blew  her  nose 
fiercely. 

144 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  145 

"Well,  of  all  the  foolishness!"  commented  the 
mother.  ' '  Crying ! ' ' 

Isabel  nodded.  "I  couldn't  help  it!  I  just 
spilled  over!"  She  laughed  and  dried  her  eyes  in 
quick  impatient  dabs.  The  boy  hovered  near.  He 
seemed  drawn  by  invisible  force.  He  reached  a  shy 
hand  to  her  sleeve. 

"You  look  awful  nice,  Sis!"  he  said  gruffly.  She 
cast  him  a  look. 

"Oh,  Jimmie — it  was  wonderful!"  she  breathed. 

"Eats?"  he  inquired.     She  shook  her  head. 

"No — not  much.    Just  drinks,  I  guess." 

"  What ! "    Her  mother's  voice  was  sharp. 

"I  mean  I  had  a  cup  of  tea —  And  then  we 
danced." 

"  You  can't  dance !"  said  her  mother. 

"But  I  did.  Anybody  can  dance.  It's  just  being 
alive — and  happy!  That's  all  dancing  is."  She 
leaned  to  her  mother. 

"  You  could  dance,"  she  said  swiftly. 

"I  don't  want  to  dance!"  Althea  Merton's 
voice  was  austere.  She  shut  her  mouth  hi  a  firm  line. 
"And  I  don't  know  as  I  want  you  should  dance, 
either." 

"Could  7  dance,  Sis?"  The  boy's  voice  was 
ironic  and  cheerful — a  poser. 

"Of  course  you  could,  Jimrnie !" 

"Come  on !"     She  held  out  her  hands 

" Aw— I  didn't  mean  it ! "  He  drew  back.  "Just 
joking ! " 

"But  you  can !" 


146  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

He  looked  down  at  his  big  clumsy  shoes.  "Not 
in  those  things,"  he  muttered. 

"Take  them  off!"  Her  lips  were  smiling.  Her 
feet  danced  a  little 

He  unlaced  the  shoes  and  slipped  them  off  and 
stood  up. 

"Not  in  your  stocking  feet!"  commanded  his 
mother  sternly. 

"Take  them  off,  Jimmie.  Go  ahead — barefoot  !— 
Come  on,  now!"  She  grasped  him  firmly  and 
moved  back  and  forth,  swaying  him  gently  and 
humming  a  little  tune  that  haunted  her. 

The  boy  stood  very  straight  and  careful,  a  look 
of  absorption  in  his  face  as  if  he  were  submitting  to 
some  uncanny  and  mystic  rite. 

"Let  yourself  go,  Jimmie!"  she  commanded. 
They  moved  faster. 

The  boy  looked  up  with  half-serious  laughing  dis- 
belief struggling  in  his  face. 

"I  kind  o'  feel  it  coming !"  he  said. 

"You  can  do  it  all  right.    Now " 

She  stopped  short. 

The  door  had  opened. 

They  remained  poised,  hands  upraised,  toes  point- 
ing downward — caught  in  the  rhythmic  movement. 

The  man  surveyed  them  cynically. 

"What's  the  nonsense!"  he  demanded. 

The  figures  drew  apart. 

"What  were  you  doing  that  way?"  he  said  gruffly. 

"Bel's  been  to  a  kind  of  tea,"  said  his  wife.  "  She's 
on  her  high  horse,  I  guess." 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  147 

" Humph!  High  heels,  more  likely!"  He  came 
over  and  pointed  to  the  light  thin-soled  shoes  with  a 
look  of  scorn. 

"Is  that  any  kind  of  a  thing  to  wear  on  a  sensible 
foot?" 

She  looked  down  and  put  out  the  trim  shoe  and 
gazed  at  it  critically.  The  shoes  were  new.  She 
had  bought  them  this  afternoon  in  Camden.  They 
made  her  feet  dance  a  little — even  before  she  heard 
the  music  of  the  violins — 

"Don't  you  like  them?"  she  asked  doubtingly. 

"Like  them?    Look  at  those  heels !" 

She  turned  the  heel  doubtfully,  gazing  at  the 
slender  arched  line  of  her  instep.  .  .  . 

"Everybody  wears  them,"  she  said. 

"/don't!"  he  retorted. 

"Oh — father,  I  didn't  mean  you!"  she  bubbled 
ever. 

He  scowled,  and  picked  up  the  boy's  broad  clumsy 
shoe  with  its  trailing  lace  and  the  gaping  tongue 
hanging  out. 

"There's  a  heel  for  you — sensible  heel!"  He 
threw  it  down.  "Why  can't  you  wear  something 
that  looks  like  the  normal  human  foot?" 

She  gazed  at  him  perplexed. 

He  put  out  his  own  foot  and  pointed  down  to  it 
sternly. 

"Like  that,"  he  said.  He  planted  it  more  firmly. 
It  was  broad  and  square-toed  and  determined — the 
normal  human  foot.  They  all  gazed  at  it  respect- 
fully. 


148  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

The  boy  working  his  toes  back  and  forth  against 
the  carpet  thrust  a  bare  foot  beside  the  broad  square- 
toed  leather  sole 

"Or  like  that,"  he  said  laughing. 

His  father  turned  and  glared  at  him. 

"You  keep  still,"  he  said.     "I'm  doing  this." 

"Oh— all  right,  dad!"  The  boy  drew  back  on 
light  feet.  He  was  smiling  at  his  sister.  He  wanted 
to  defend  her.  .  .  .  She  looked  so  pretty  standing 
there  in  her  new  dress  and  hat  looking  down  at  the 
absurd  little  high-heeled  shoes.  Her  face  was 
thoughtful. 

"They  are  ridiculous,  aren't  they?"  She  turned 
the  sole  a  little  and  said  it  softly,  "but  they  don't  feel 
ridiculous.  They  just  make  you  happy  and  light— 
and  wanting  everybody  to  have  a  good  time!" 
She  gazed  at  them  wistfully. 

"You  don't  have  to  be  up  on  stilts  to  be  happy,  do 
you !  .  .  .  What  would  you  think  of  me — if  you  saw 
me  going  around  in  things  like  that?"  The  girl 
looked  at  the  square  determined  foot.  She  laughed 
out  clearly  and  irrepressibly.  The  boy  gave  a  high 
thin  whoop.  His  father  cast  a  warning  eye— 

"Going  down  the  street,"  he  continued  sternly, 
"mincing  along !  You'd  say  I  was  a  fool ! " 

"You'd  look  like  one,  dad,  wouldn't  you!"  The 
boy  came  over  chuckling.  He  looked  from  the  solid 
heavy  foot  to  the  dainty  high-heeled  one  that  seemed 
alive  with  lightness,  eager  to  be  off  and  fly  from  the 
earth. 

"Sis  is  different,  isn't  she?"    His  glance  followed 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  149 

the  delicate  slender  lines  of  the  girl's  figure  up  to 
her  lifted  head  and  the  pretty  new  hat— 

"She  ain't  like  us,  dad !"  he  said  softly.  " Seems 
Js  if  she's  different  somehow.  Lighter  and — and  dif- 
ferent." He  groped  for  it  in  his  boy's  soul,  and  his 
eyes  dwelt  on  his  sister  with  a  little  dawning  look. 

"  She's  a  peach !"  he  said  under  his  breath. 

"You  go  to  bed,"  said  his  father. 

* '  All  right. "  He  went  over  to  the  table  and  picked 
up  his  books,  slamming  the  covers  together.  His 
eye  caught  an  open  page.  It  absorbed  him. 

He  leaned  over  chuckling —  "All  the  animals  of 
different  countries — dozens  of  them."  He  giggled. 

His  father  came  over  to  him.  He  was  fond  of  the 
boy —  Something  of  his  own  youth  bubbled  up  to 
him  now  and  then  in  Jim's  face  and  made  him  a  little 
homesick. 

"What  you  got  there?"  he  demanded  gruffly. 

The  boy  pointed. 

"I  was  just  looking  at  'em — all  the  different  ani- 
mals— and  their  legs  and  feet.  .  .  .  You  see  that 
one — ' antelope.'  Kind  o'  thin  and  high —  And 
this  old  'hippopotamus'  lumbering  along.  They'd 
look  kind  o'  funny  with  changed  legs,  wouldn't 
they ! "  He  gurgled  over  it  happily,  and  a  smile 
touched  the  father's  grim  face. 

"You  get  along  to  bed,"  he  said. 


XXIII 

THE  mother  followed  the  boy  into  the  kitchen. 
They  heard  her  moving  about,  pouring  out  water 
for  the  dishes,  filling  the  tea-kettle.  Isabel  came  out. 

"I'll  help  wipe,"  she  said. 

Her  mother  was  setting  the  kettle  on  the  stove. 
She  glanced  over  her  shoulder. 

"You  going  to  change  your  dress?"  she  asked  a 
little  anxiously. 

"Why,  no,  I  guess  not.    I  sha'n't  hurt  it." 

"You'd  better  have  this  apron,  then."  She 
brought  a  large  gingham  apron  from  a  drawer  and 
pinned  it  around  her,  smoothing  the  folds  of  the  silk 
under  it  with  gentle  strokes.  "It  looks  real  nice  on 
you,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  had  such  a  beautiful  time  !"* 

"I  know.  .  .  .  Your  father  didn't  mean  any- 
thing. It's  just  his  way.  He'll  get  over  it  if  you 
don't  pester  him."  She  glanced  quickly  at  the  girl. 

The  eyes  following  the  dish-towel  wore  an  absent 
look — a  little  smile  parted  her  lips.  She  had  not 
heard  the  words.  .  .  .  Her  feet  were  dancing,  and 
her  hands  bore  the  dishes  back  and  forth  with  a  light 
swaying  movement.  The  mother  sighed. 

"I'm  glad  you  had  a  good  time."  She  glanced 
at  the  dress.  "  'Most  seems  as  if  you  ought  to  change 
it,  though.  It  will  have  to  do  you  for  best  for  a  long 
time." 

150 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  151 

"I  don't  want  to  change  it.  It  makes  me  feel  so 
happy.  I  feel  as  if  it  would  kill  something  in  me  if 
I  took  it  off !"  Her  mother  gave  her  a  quick  scared 
look. 

"You  hadn't  ought  to  talk  like  that!  Clothes 
can't  do  anything  to  you !" 

"  Can't  they,  mother  ?  "  The  girl's  eyes  challenged 
it — seeking,  wistful — trying  to  believe  it  must  be  so. 

"Then  why  do  I  feel  this  way?"  she  demanded 
slowly. 

"Well,  of  course,  anybody  likes  to  be  dressed  up 
once  in  a  while.  .  .  .  But  you  spoke  'most  as  if 
they  were  alive — as  if  they  dould  do  things  to  you. 
Clothes  ain't  alive!"  She  poured  out  a  dipperful 
of  water. 

The  girl's  eyes  followed  the  rising  steam.  She 
sighed  a  little.  She  glanced  at  her  mother's  worn 
shoulders  and  faded  black  waist. 

"I  wish  you  had  a  new  dress,  mother !" 

"Me !  I  don't  need  a  dress.  I  don't  go  out  any- 
wheres." 

"But  perhaps  you  would  if  you  had  a  dress.  Per- 
haps the  dress  would  make  you  go — make  you  feel 
like  going?" 

Her  face  lighted.  "That's  what  I  mean!  They 
can  make  you  do  things!"  Her  mother's  face  re- 
sponded dully  with  a  look  of  fondness 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  do  things — not  if  you're 
happy.  That's  all  I  want,  not  to  have  anything  bad 
happen,  and  to  have  you  children  happy — and  good. 
.  .  .  That's  enough  for  me — now." 


152  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

But  when  the  girl  went  back  to  the  sitting-room  she 
heard  her  mother  singing — an  old  quaint  hymn. 
She  sang  it  low,  the  snatches  breaking  off  and  be- 
ginning fitfully.  .  .  .  She  had  not  heard  her  mother 
siag  since  she  was  a  little  girl. 

She  glanced  at  her  father.  He  was  absorbed  in 
his  paper.  His  feet  were  thrust  out  before  him  in 
slippers — the  normal  human  foot.  She  smiled  at 
it  as  she  passed  him  and  found  the  book  she  was 
reading. 

Her  father  rustled  the  paper.    He  threw  it  aside. 

"Where'd  you  get  that  dress  you've  got  on?" 

"This?  This  is  mother's  wedding-dress."  She 
waited  intently.  It  seemed  to  her  she  hardly 
breathed. 

He  made  no  reply. 

"It  did  not  cost  anything — not  anything  much!" 
She  waited  again. 

She  thought  of  the  back  room  at  the  store.  .  .  . 
She  loved  her  mother  with  a  kind  of  fierce  devotion. 
It  seemed  to  her  she  could  not  bear  to  have  her  old 
and  worn. 

"  I'm  getting  more  pay,"  she  said.    He  started 

' '  You  are  ? —    How'd  that  happen  ?  " 

"I  asked  for  it."  There  was  a  little  pride  in  the 
words. 

"Humph !  .  .  .  I'd  like  to  ask  for  it  and  get  it — • 
easy  as  that ! " 

"Why  don't  you?" 

"Why  don't  I!" 

"Yes.  .  .  .    You're  your  own  boss,  aren't  you  ?", 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  153 

The  keen  words  flicked  him. 

He  sat  up. 

"Do  you  suppose  anybody '11  buy  anything  in  this 
God-forsaken  hole?  They  wouldn't  buy  ten-cents 
worth — not  if  John  Wanamaker  was  to  open  a  store 
right  on  Main  Street !  They  wouldn't  buy  anything 
if  you'd  give  it  to  'em." 

"I  don't  believe  you've  got  anything  they  want," 
she  said  thoughtfully. 

"Anything  they  want!  ...  A  lot  of  girls  came 
giggling  in  to-day — a  lot  of  your  mill  crowd — 
What  do  you  suppose  they  wanted?" 

"What  did  they ? "    She  leaned  forward. 

"Hairpins!"  He  said  it  scornfully.  Althea  Mer- 
ton  stood  in  the  doorway.  She  came  in  slowly. 

"You  keep  hairpins,  don't  you,  Aaron  ?  You  used 
to."  She  spread  her  sewing  on  her  lap  and  took  up 
her  thimble. 

"I  keep  hair-pins — the  sensible  kind,  straight — 
the  kind  I've  always  kept." 

"Like  that?"  She  drew  out  one  from  her  thin 
hair  and  held  it  toward  him.  He  glanced  con- 
temptuously. 

"Yes.  That's  the  kind  I  keep."  She  replaced  it 
with  careful  fingers. 

"I  thought  you  had  some,"  she  said.  "You  used 
to." 

"What  did  they  want,  father?"  The  girl's  voice 
laughed  a  little. 

"7  don't  know.  Some  kind  of  a  crinkled-up 
thing!" 


154  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Invisible ?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  so.  Humph! —  Invisible!"  He 
scorned  it. 

She  laughed  happily.  "They're  doing  their  hair 
a  new  way ! "  she  said.  Her  eyes  seemed  looking  at 
something  unseen.  .  .  .  The  look  grew  wistful. 
She  glanced  at  her  mother's  bent  head — the  dull  gray 
hair — the  "same  way  she'd  always  done  it,"  with 
the  straight  black  pins.  She  leaned  forward — 

"I  wish  you  would  get  some  invisible  ones,  father." 

"What?" 

She  nodded.    Then  she  smiled.    Then  she  laughed. 

The  hairpins  spun  before  her.  They  danced  a 
little. 

"Put  in  a  good  big  stock,"  she  said.  "Make  it  a 
rush  order.  I'll  tell  the  girls  to  wait." 

He  turned  in  his  chair.  He  drew  hi  his  slippered 
feet  and  looked  at  her. 

"You  think  I'll  get  rich  on  hairpins,  I  suppose !  I 
tell  you  the  minute  I  got  loaded  up  with  hairpins, 
they'd  want — shoe-strings!"  He  glared  at  her. 
"  You  try  running  a  store  in  this  town  a  while ! " 

"I'd  like  to!" 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  have  you!  ...  If  my  father 
hadn't  had  a  store  here  I  might  amount  to  something. 
I'd  have  gone  away.  I  wouldn't  have  got  married, 
maybe."  He  gave  a  grim  look.  He  rustled  his 
paper  a  little.  Althea  Merton  stirred.  She  bit  off 
a  length  of  thread  and  squinted  at  her  needle. 

The  girl  laughed.  "I  should  have  been  sorry 
about  that,"  she  said  swiftly. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  155 

He  gave  her  a  flicking  smile. 

"Didn't  grandpa  do  a  good  business?"  she  asked. 

"Good  enough." 

"He  left  money,"  she  persisted. 

"Some."    He  drew  in  his  feet  further. 

"Then  why  can't  we  make  it?" 

Her  mother  looked  up,  the  little  anxious  line  be- 
tween her  eyes. 

"Tunes  have  changed,  Bel,"  she  said  gently. 
"Your  father  has  always  tried " 

"I'm  not  blaming  father.  I  only  want  to  know 
what's  happened." 

' '  Well —  ? ' '  The  man  let  the  offense  go,  with  mas- 
culine tolerance.  He  accepted  the  abstract  question. 
There  was  something  in  the  girl  he  had  never  found 
in  his  wife — a  kind  of  fairness,  impersonal  and  quiet,  a 
willingness  to  look  at  things  squarely.  ...  But 
it  was  the  fairness  that  hurt.  It  had  built  up  a  wall 
between  them.  He  knew  she  judged  him  impartially. 
The  fact  that  he  was  her  father  and  ought  to  be  loved 
and  looked  up  to  never  seemed  to  come  between  Bel 
and  the  things  she  thought  people  ought  to  do. 

She  was  hard  on  people — even  when  they  tried. 
He  stirred  a  little. 

"Well —  In  my  father's  day  everybody  bought 
what  they  wanted  right  here " 

"They  might  now,"  she  said  quickly.  He  did  not 
heed  it. 

"And  there  was  plenty  of  money  in  town." 

"More  than  there  is  now?" 

He  stared  at  her  slowly. 


156  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Well,  no.  I  don't  suppose  there  was,  likely. 
There's  a  good  lot  of  money  made  in  Hanover  now." 
She  nodded. 

"What  do  they  do  with  it?" 

"They  put  it  in  the  bank,"  said  her  mother  anx- 
iously. "I  guess  everybody's  got  a  bank-book  ex- 
cept us."  She  sat  looking  at  it.  The  man  turned. 

"That's  not  my  fault!" 

"No,  no,  Aaron !  I  didn't  say  so !"  She  took  up 
her  sewing  hastily. 

"They  earn  the  money  and  then  they  put  it  in  the 
bank — over  in  Camden,"  said  Bel  thoughtfully. 

"Well,  what  of  that?"  said  her  father.  His  face 
was  turned  sharply. 

"Nothing.  I  was  only  thinking  how  happy  they 
all  seemed  this  afternoon — as  if  they  had  enough  to 
eat." 

"Enough  to  eat?"  murmured  her  mother  in  dis- 
may. "I  should  hope  so." 

Isabel  laughed.  "Enough  for  their  minds  to  eat, 
I  mean — all  sorts  of  beautiful  things.  ...  I  wish 
you  could  have  seen  them !"  Her  face  glowed  with 
it.  She  leaned  forward  looking  at  it  happily.  The 
little  electric  forces  seemed  playing  about  her  and 
leaping  in  the  room.  ... 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about!"  said 
her  father  gruffly.  He  stirred  uneasily.  "And 
I  guess  you  don't ! " 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes — shutting  it  out. 

"No,  I  don't!"  she  said.  "Something  seemed  to 
come !  I'm  going  to  bed." 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  157 

"  Good-night ! "  Their  eyes  followed  her  from  the 
room.  They  did  not  look  at  each  other  when  she 
was  gone. 

The  man  picked  up  his  paper.  The  mother's 
head  bent  lower  over  the  coat  she  was  mending. 

"What  do  you  suppose  she  meant,  Aaron?" 

"I  don't  know.  Some  kind  of  dum  foolishness. 
She's  always  going  on  about  something !"  He  went 
on  reading  the  paper  to  himself. 


XXIV 

THEY  gathered  in  the  rest-room  chattering  and 
fluttering,  squealing  like  magpies.  John  Junior  pass- 
ing the  closed  door  of  the  rest-room  halted  and  looked 
at  it  hi  amazement. 

He  glanced  out  of  the  hall  window — down  at  the 
fence.  A  few  youths  wandered  disconsolately  alone. 
Glorious  sunshine,  spring  warmth  in  the  air—  And 
not  a  girl  down  there  by  the  fence !  John  Junior 
listened  again  to  the  babble  of  voices  behind  the 
closed  door. 

A  smile  of  satisfaction  touched  his  face.  .  .  . 
They  were  beginning  to  use  the  rest-room,  to  like  it, 
and  feel  at  home  there!  The  smile  deepened  to  a 
sense  of  achievement.  His  shoulders  straightened. 
He  wished  his  father  were  here.  John  smiled 
serenely.  Father  was  getting  old.  ...  It  takes 
time  to  bring  reforms  to  pass !  He  heard  the  laughter 
again.  It  touched  some  quick  spring  of  joy  in  him ! 

He  wondered  whether  he  could  make  a  poem  of 
it —  But  the  idea  seemed  to  evade  rhymes.  .  .  . 
Only  it  made  him  strangely  happy  to  hear  the  girls 
laughing  like  that  in  the  rest-room.  They  really  felt 
at  home  there ! 

The  door  opened  and  a  half-dozen  of  them  fluttered 
out.  They  cast  respectful  glances  at  him  as  they 
passed.  He  bowed  pleasantly.  .  .  .  There  was 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  159 

something  in  the  glances — brightness,  bubbling  up, 
a  kind  of  shining  joy  that  made  him  glad. 

John  Junior  knew  that  the  first  and  most  necessary 
equipment  of  a  modern  factory  is  a  force  of  happy 
contented  employees. 

His  heart  leaped.  His  eyes  followed  them  with 
delight. 

They  moved  together  hi  a  kind  of  swaying  unison 
down  the  long  corridor,  and  the  light  falling  on 
their  moving  heads  made  a  picture  of  it.  He  noted 
how  graceful  they  were — moving  together  that  way ! 

They  turned  the  corner  to  the  stairs  and  descended 
and  whoops  of  repressed  laughter  came  back.  He 
smiled  tolerantly.  Giggles  and  little  shrieks.  He 
wished  again  that  John  Senior  could  see  and  hear. 
The  factory  was  beginning  to  wake  up  and  sound 
the  modern  note!  He  had  seen  nothing  in  Lord 
Leverhulme's  factory  as  fine  as  that  group  of  girls 
just  now  going  down  the  corridor  in  the  light.  .  .  . 
A  little  enthusiasm  for  the  business  woke  up  in  John 
Junior. 

And  across  it  came  a  slow  vision.  .  .  . 

He  stared  at  it. 

What  made  him  see  Isabel  Merton  now — and 
like  that!  He  had  not  been  thinking  of  her.  .  .  . 
His  fingers  groped  for  a  pencil. 

There  was  a  kind  of  beauty  spreading  and  growing 
in  him  and  outside  of  him.  It  seemed  to  surround 
him  .  .  .  and  it  all  centred  in  the  quiet  figure  of  a 
girl  with  a  little  smile  on  her  lips,  copying  his 
notes. 


i6o  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

He  wondered  suddenly  where  Isabel  was  ?  He  had 
not  seen  her  since  the  tea  at  Ellen  Braithwaite's.  .  .  . 
He  recalled  gratefully  that  she  always  took  her  lunch- 
eon in  the  office  alone. 

He  went  down  the  hall. 

A  burst  of  laughter  came  from  the  rest-room  and 
followed  him.  The  door  had  opened.  Another 
group  of  girls  came  out.  They  were  trouping  out 
— more  girls — .  ...  He  did  not  note  the  light  on 
their  shining  heads —  Every  head  done  in  a  marvel- 
lous new  way.  He  cared  nothing  for  their  happiness 
as  model  employees. 

He  wanted  to  see  Isabel ! 

He  felt  suddenly  that  he  must  see  her  this  minute. 

Was  she  really  as  beautiful  as  the  vision  he  had 
seen!  .  .  . 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  office.    It  was  vacant. 

Only  on  the  table  Isabel's  machine  waited  for  her. 

John  smiled. 

Isabel's  waiting  machine  seemed  to  fill  the  whole 
room  with  a  kind  of  waiting  light.  .  .  .  The  closed 
door  of  his  father's  office  caught  his  eye  and  a  sense  of 
responsibility  descended  on  him.  His  father  had 
said  carelessly  as  he  swung  on  to  the  train  a  week 
ago 

"Bel  looks  after  the  mail  and  Brackett  will  keep  an 
eye  on  things  down  below.  But  if  anything  happens, 
your  name  is  John  Berwick,  you  know." 

John  had  assented  with  a  laugh.  He  was  watching 
the  wreathing  clouds  from  the  engine — a  woman's 
veil  swept  past  him — faces  jostled.  ...  It  was  like 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  161 

the  rhythm  of  a  poem.  His  father  called  out  from 
the  platform  of  the  car — a  wind-blown  word  and  ges- 
ture— a  clutch  at  his  hat.  .  .  .  The  gray-repeating 
windows  moved  past.  His  father's  hand  waved 
dimly  within — a  blur  of  flickering  fingers  and  the 
train  passed  him.  It  was  gone — except  what  re- 
mained within  John  Junior  clamoring.  To  the  crowd 
on  the  platform  perhaps  the  going  train  was  only  an 
assemblage  of  boxes  on  wheels  moving  smoothly 
along  the  rails.  To  John  it  was  a  wrenching  experi- 
ence. 

He  had  turned  blindly  toward  the  car  waiting  by 
the  platform. 

"All  right,  Sturgis!"  He  sprang  in.  And  all 
the  way  back  to  the  mill  the  rhythmic  urge  of  faces 
and  wheels  and  smoke  and  the  clanking  roar  of  the 
train  pursued  him.  He  had  never  seen  a  train  de- 
part before — he  had  only  seen  wood  and  steel  mov- 
ing away  on  wheels.  .  .  .  There  were  things  outside 
and  things  within — and  things  moving — always  mov- 
ing together — and  mysterious  changing  and  never- 
ceasing  movement !  He  caught  sight  of  it  dimly  and 
lost  it.  The  rhythm  of  the  train  swept  in. 

He  could  not  make  a  poem  of  it.  He  had  a  gloomy 
sense  that  it  was  too  big  for  him — and  it  wasn't 
poetry !  .  .  .  It  seemed  to  have  written  itself  there 
on  the  platform,  and  whirled  away  in  the  smoke  of 
the  receding  train —  A  poem  like  that  would  have  to 
write  itself.  It  was  not  poetry ! 

But  it  tantalized  him — like  a  breath  of  ozone  from 
an  opened  door  that  closed  again  swiftly. 


162  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

He  had  fretted  with  it  for  a  while  and  dropped  it. 

Now  his  father's  closed  door  recalled  it  to  him  and 
recalled  the  vague  sense  of  responsibility  for  the 
mill  his  father  had  tossed  to  him  as  the  tram  pulled 
out. 

He  would  take  a  run  through  and  see  how  things 
were  going. 

He  cast  another  look  about  the  quiet,  waiting 
room  and  pulled  his  necktie  and  straightened  his, 
shoulders. 

He  would  go  through  now  while  the  men  were  out 
and  again  later.  He  might  as  well  get  to  know 
what  they  were  doing.  His  "name  was  Berwick." 
Some  day  he  would  have  to  take  the  load  on  his 
shoulders.  He  might  as  well  get  used  to  it. 

He  moved  down  the  hall  with  determined  step  and 
through  into  the  big  room.  Machines  stretched 
away,  row  on  row,  with  silent  folded  fingers.  .  .  . 
But  even  in  then:  silence  they  seemed  to  hum  with 
power  as  he  stood  looking.  The  room  was  filled  with 
dazzling  light — and  the  light  too  seemed  to  hum  a 
little.  Two  workmen  by  a  window  turned  to 
stare  at  him  curiously  as  he  passed  through  to  the 
opposite  door.  They  did  not  often  see  John  Junior 
in  this  room. 

The  whistle  blew  and  he  quickened  his  pace.  He 
descended  to  the  engine-room.  The  engineer  moving 
past  with  an  oil-can  and  thick  black  rag  nodded  to 
him  cordially.  The  wheels  were  making  slow  revolu- 
tions— the  shining  greasy  thrust  of  the  rods  was  be- 
ginning to  gather  speed.  He  stood  with  his  hands  in 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  163 

his  pockets,  whistling  a  little,  watching  the  waiting 
monster.  .  .  .  This  was  what  did  the  business — 
all  those  silent  machines  up  there,  humming  deep 
within  themselves.  .  .  .  This  was  it — this  great 
monster  of  power — the  intake  of  its  laboring  breath 
— the  thrust  and  purr  of  it ! 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  watching  it.  Thoughts 
like  that  were  foolish — flimsy  poetry.  This  engine 
moving  so  silently  was  greater  than  poetry — it  drew 
him — sucked  him  up,  filled  him  with  a  roaring  firey 
blast  of  desire.  .  .  . 

"Hie,  there — I"  A  heavy  hand  descended  on  his 
shoulder. 

He  turned,  bunking. 

"You  don't  want  to  get  too  near  those  rods!" 
said  Brackett.  He  removed  his  grimy  hand  from 
the  shoulder  and  shifted  the  oil-can.  John  moved 
back  a  step.  The  man  was  watching  him  curiously. 

"You  have  to  look  out  for  machines,"  he  said 
dryly.  John  turned  his  face  a  little.  It  was  il- 
luminated. A  light  was  shining  through  it  from  some 
deep  place. 

"It  is — a  wonderful  thing!"  He  moved  a  hand 
toward  the  soft-purring  engine. 

The  man  nodded.     "The  best  there  is ! " 

They  stood  in  silence  watching  the  easy  sweep  and 
thrust  of  the  rods. 

"I'll  say  this  for  your  father,"  said  the  man. 
"He  don't  scrimp  on  machines.  The  best  is  none  too 
good  for  him — and  when  they're  done  we  scrap  'em." 

"Scrap — a  thing  like  that — scrap  that  power!" 


1 64  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

The  man  turned  a  quiet  look  to  him. 

"I  reckon  John  Berwick,  nor  any  man,  doesn't 
scrap  power,"  he  said.  "Power's  something  you 
can't  lay  your  hand  on  so  easy  as  that.  It's  some- 
thing kind  of  alive.  You  set  a  trap  for  it  with  a 
first  class  engine — and  the  best  is  none  too  good  for 
it.  .  .  ." 

John  turned  a  quick  face.  His  lip  quivered  sen- 
sitively. 

"That  is  wonderful!"  he  said. 

"Yes,  sir,  it  is !  I've  never  seen  through  it  myself 
— long  as  I've  been  handling  engines,  taking  care  of 
'em,  tinkering  'em  up  when  they  go  wrong  and 
throwing  'em  out  when  they're  done  for — I  always 
keep  thinking  to  myself,  way  hi  back,  there's  some- 
thing I  don't  lay  my  finger  on  from  start  to  finish." 

"And  yet  if  it  wasn't  for  the  engine — we'd  never 
get  as  near  to  it  as  we  do !"  said  John. 

The  man  looked  at  him  a  minute  and  as  if  a  signal 
passed  between  them  they  stood  quiet. 

"That's  right,  too,"  he  said.  He  moved  on  with 
his  oil-can  and  rag. 

John  Junior  went  slowly  back  through  the  rooms. 
The  machines  were  whirring  now  out  loud — a  deep- 
moving  purring  breath.  And  silent  heads  bent  to 
them  or  drew  back  with  intent  look,  watching  them, 
and  hands  reached  out.  .  .  .  John's  heart  quivered. 
A  kind  of  worship  rose  hi  him.  And  then  in  a  flash 
a  vision  swept  across  it — Isabel  with  her  quiet  head 
bent  over  her  note-book  and  the  little  smile  on  her 
lip  writing  down  his  poems. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  165 

He  hurried  to  his  room.  He  wanted  to  be  with 
familiar  things.  All  this  strangeness  of  life — and  the 
mill  and  Isabel — must  be  faced  of  course.  .  .  .  Sup- 
pose it  meant  the  end  of  his  poems !  He  heard  the 
engineer's  quiet  droll  voice 

"And  when  they're  done  for,  we  scrap  'em." 

He  opened  the  door  of  his  room  and  stepped  in. 
He  stood  a  moment  his  hand  on  the  knob,  looking. 

The  knob  relaxed  slowly.  The  familiar  things 
seemed  strange.  There  was  a  new  look  to  the 
room.  .  .  . 

The  chenille  curtains  were  dusty  and  fusty  and 
close  and  the  couch  was  a  soft  clumsy  terra-cotta 
lump,  and  the  lamp-shade  a  flimsy  horror.  He 
walked  over  to  it  and  lifted  it  and  gazed  down  at  the 
curved  bulb  beneath  it.  Of  course  he  could  not 
stand  the  full  glare  of  light.  But  there  were  other 
things !  He  tossed  the  shade  behind  him.  It  rolled 
a  little  on  the  floor  and  lay  tilted  to  one  side.  The 
yellow  fringe  drooped.  ...  He  stepped  quickly  to 
the  window  and  pulled  at  the  chenille  curtains. 
A  cloud  of  dust  descended  on  him,  but  he  turned  his 
head  aside  and  pulled  harder  till  they  came  draping 
about  his  ears.  He  gathered  them  hi  his  arms  and 
stooped  to  the  couch-cover  and  drew  it  off  and  kicked 
the  lamp-shade  ahead  of  him  to  the  closet  door.  He 
bundled  them  all  in  and  shut  the  door  firmly  and 
turned  back 

His  glance  swept  the  walls —  With  the  help  of 
a  window-pole  he  dislodged  picture-hooks  one  by  one 
— only  shrugging  his  shoulders  a  little  when  the  wires 


1 66  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

descended  on  him.  The  pictures  followed  the  cur- 
tains to  the  closet.  His  glance  swept  the  room  again 
with  slow  smile.  He  went  to  the  alcove  and  seized 
the  typewriter  and  moved  it  over  by  his  desk  where 
the  light  from  the  window  fell  full  on  it.  Then  he 
drew  a  long  breath  and  looked  about  him  dazed 

Well,  that  was  done ! 

And  how  friendly  the  room  looked — how  bare  and 
clean! 


XXV 

THE  next  day  John  Senior  returned.  His  coming 
was  like  the  sweep  of  a  cool  breeze  on  a  sultry  day — 
Everyone  was  relieved,  but  a  little  upset  by  the  swift 
rush  of  air  through  the  place. 

He  called  Isabel  to  the  inner  office.  He  was  in  the 
best  of  spirits. 

"Everything's  coming  on,"  he  confided  to  her  as 
she  came  in.  "I  got  there  just  in  the  nick  of  tune. 
But  I'll  have  to  take  in  sail  for  a  while — the  way 
I'm  fixed —  Sail  pretty  close  to  the  wind  for  a 
spell."  He  considered  a  minute. 

"Well,  take  this  first— to  Wolcott  and  Ames." 
The  dictation  began. 

He  paused  now  and  then  to  go  over  the  things  he 
dictated.  "I'm  grudging  every  penny,  you  see.  It 
means  dollars — hundreds  of  dollars  later  on  for  me ! 
You  wouldn't  believe  the  way  things  are  fixed  out 
there —  Nobody'd  believe  that  hadn't  seen— 
Money  just  bubbling  up  out  of  the  ground ! "  It  was 
a  relief  to  talk  to  Isabel.  He  liked  to  play  a  lone 
hand — always  had.  But  it  had  been  bottled  up  in 
him  all  the  way  home  hi  the  train  till  he  wanted  to 
shout  and  throw  things.  .  .  .  There  was  no  one 
he  could  trust  like  Isabel — not  even  John  Junior. 

"Just  ready  to  boil  up  anywhere,"  he  went  on. 

167 


1 68  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"You  stick  in  the  fork  and  up  it  comes !  Never  saw 
anything  like  it!" 

She  was  looking  at  him  reflectively. 

"And  it  all  belongs  to  you?" 

"I've  signed  the  option.    Yep."    He  grinned. 

Her  reflective  look  still  held  it.  "I  should  think 
anything  like  that  ought  to  belong  to  everybody," 
she  said  impartially. 

"  Well,  it  don't ! — not  if  I've  got  my  fork  in  first  !— 
Here  take  this  down — to  Simons — John  H.  Simons," 
and  the  dictation  went  on  again. 

His  fingers  drummed  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"Belong  to  everybody!  Umph!"  he  said. 
"You're  a  Bolshevik,  Bel!" 

She  smiled.     "Shall  I  take  that  down?" 

"A  regular  Bolshevik!"  said  John  Senior  sternly. 
"Money  belongs  to  the  man  that  gets  his  hand  on  it 
and  keeps  it  there !  I'd  like  to  have  mine  on  a  little 
more  just  this  present  minute.  ...  I  might  cut 
down  your  wages — save  a  dollar  or  two  that  way ! " 
he  chuckled.  He  twinkled  at  her  shrewdly. 

John  Senior  was  in  a  rare  good  humor. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  have  use  for  my  money  too — important  use." 

"What  you  doing  with  it?"  he  asked  tolerantly. 

"Oh— little  things.  ...  I  don't  quite  know—" 
she  was  gazing  at  something  beyond  John  Senior's 
head,  and  her  face  glowed  a  little.  He  looked  be- 
hind him  instinctively  and  quickly.  Isabel's  eyes 
seemed  little  mirrors  of  something  coming 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  Bel !    You  let  me  take 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  169 

that  extra  money  of  yours  and  I'll  put  it  into  this 
thing  right  now ! "  He  tapped  it  with  his  ringer. 

She  looked  at  the  finger.  "So  the  money  would 
bubble  up  for  me  ?  "  she  asked.  He  nodded  shrewdly. 

She  shook  her  head.    "I  don't  want  it." 

"You  don't  want  it?    What  do  you  want?" 

"Why,  I  want — I  want  to  live,  I  guess!"  She 
laughed  out.  "Just  that!"  She  nodded.  "I  want 
to  live !"  There  was  a  dancing  light  in  her  eyes  and 
behind  it  a  deep  still  glow.  John  Senior  regarded  it 
a  minute. 

"Humph !"  he  said.  "You  take  down  this,"  and 
the  dictation  went  swiftly  on.  .  .  .  "There,  that's 
the  last.  Now  hustle !  We've  got  to  move  lively 
the  next  few  weeks." 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  her  he  glanced 
at  it.  ...  He  turned  to  his  desk  and  fussed  at  his 
papers.  He  looked  again  at  the  door 

"Humph ! "  he  said.    He  shook  his  head. 

But  if  John  Senior  failed  to  understand  her  it  was 
not  strange. 

Isabel  did  not  understand  herself. 

She  had  wakened  in  the  morning  with  them  in  her 
mind — those  crinkly  invisible  hairpins. 

She  lay  and  stared  at  them  and  at  the  ceiling. 
She  sprang  up.  There  should  be  plenty  of  hair- 
pins and  they  should  buy  them  in  Hanover  —  at 
Aaron  Merton's  store !  .  .  .  The  store  had  always 
kept  notions,  "Drugs  and  Notions" — as  long  as  she 
could  remember.  There  was  no  reason  it  should 
not  do  it  now.  She  hurried  down  to  breakfast  full  of 


1 70  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

curious  eagerness  and  a  little  constrained.  But  her 
father  was  not  there — he  was  still  in  bed.  She  left 
the  house  without  seeing  him. 

All  the  way  to  the  mill  they  pursued  her — the 
crinkly  invisible  pins — they  were  nothing — yet  it 
seemed  to  Isabel  they  filled  the  world.  She  was 
driven  by  a  desire  to  buy  them — dozens  and  dozens  of 
hairpins — stack  the  store  with  hairpins  for  the  girls. 
.  .  .  She  laughed  at  it.  She  tried  to  put  it  aside, 
but  it  came  back  insistent.  .  .  .  Later  she  was  to 
know — when  a  little  thing  pursued  her  like  this, 
nagged  at  her,  insisted  on  getting  done,  that  it  was  a 
key  she  must  take  in  her  fingers  and  insert  in  a  lock 
and  turn — that  the  door  might  swing  open  into  a 
wide  unknown  place. 

But  now  it  only  annoyed  her  and  puzzled  her. 
And  when  she  looked  down  and  saw  on  the  floor  by 
her  chair  this  morning — a  bit  of  shining  something — 
she  could  not  be  sure  whether  it  was  real  or  not 
until  she  bent  over  to  it  and  picked  it  up,  relieved. 
Her  fingers  closed  on  something  tangible.  She  held 
it  up. 

"That  yours,  Fannie?" 

The  girl  by  the  window  squinted  over  to  it. 

"What?—    A  hairpin?" 

"Oh — likely!"  She  smoothed  a  distracted  hand 
over  her  hair —  "They  come  out  so!  Specially 
after  it's  washed.  I've  got  to  get  some  of  those 
crinkly  invisible  ones." 

Isabel  laughed  out. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Fannie.  Her  in- 
dignant glance  paused 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  171 

' '  Nothing —    How  many  do  you  want  ? ' ' 

"Want ?    Of  what ?  "    She  said  it  crossly. 

"Hairpins,"  returned  Isabel. 

"Oh—  I  don't  know.  Two-three  papers.  You 
never  have  enough  of  'em !" 

"I'll  get  them  for  you." 

"You  going  in  to  Camden?" 

"No.    But  I'll  get  them." 

"All  right!  ...  I  heard  you  went  to  Camden 
yesterday —  Have  a  good  time?" 

"Yes—     Don't  talk,  Fannie.    I'll  tell  you  later." 

"Well,  who  began  it?"  she  demanded  irascibly. 
The  door  of  the  inner  office  had  opened.  John 
Senior's  head  came  out,  glared  at  them  and  withdrew. 

"There!  What  did  I  tell  you!"  said  Fannie. 
"Don't  disturb  the  alligator  while  he's  feeding!" 
Her  keys  clacked  righteously  on. 

At  noon  Isabel  went  down  to  the  fence.  She  went 
down  deliberately — and  guiltily.  .  .  .  But  there 
was  no  chance  given  to  mention  hairpins. 

The  girls  gathered  about,  laughing  and  curious. 
They  all  liked  Bel  Merton.  And  there  was  not  one 
of  them  had  not  heard  how  she  came  riding  home  last 
night  in  a  limousine. 

"Had  a  good  time,  Bel?"—    "What'd  you  do?" 

"I — danced,"  said  Isabel.    "It  was  wonderful!" 

"No!"-  "Did  you  really?"—  "Oh,  7  want 
to  dance.  I  want  to  dance !" 

"I'll  show  you,"  said  Isabel.  "It's  easy  enough." 
She  seized  the  girl  and  tried  to  guide  her.  The 
others  looked  on — with  curious  eyes.  The  rough 
gravel  held  the  tripping  steps.  Isabel  abandoned 


172  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRI/ 

it.  "No.  It  won't  do!  But  I'll  show  you  some- 
time. It's  easy!" 

The  girl  was  breathing  quickly.  She  gathered  up 
the  hair  that  had  come  loose  about  her  neck — grop- 
ing for  it. 

Isabel  watched  her.  The  guilty  feeling  swept 
through  her. 

"You  ought  to  have  some  invisible  ones,"  she  said, 
"the  kind  with  crinkles  in  'em." 

The  girl  looked  at  her  under  lifted  arms 

"Don't  I  know  it?  But  you  can't  get  'em — not 
in  this  town!" 

"My  father  is  going  to  have  some,"  she  responded 
coolly.  She  felt  the  guilt  of  Machiavelli  as  the  girls 
crowded  around  her 

"No?"—  "Bel!"—  "Tell  him  to  save  me 
some,  will  you?" —  "When  are  they  coming?" 

"Wednesday — I  think,"  she  said  gravely.  "How 
many  do  you  want?"  And  then  on  a  slip  of  paper 
she  took  down  the  orders  that  flew  at  her.  .  .  .  She 
regarded  the  paper  a  moment  and  thrust  it  into  her 
pocket. 

"That's  all  right!  You'll  have  them— ' as  or- 
dered!'" she  said.  And  she  laughed.  "> 

"You're  a  brick,  Bel!" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  am,"  she  replied.  The 
bell  struck  sharply.  "But  you'll  have  your  hair- 
pins— I  know  that ! " 

All  the  way  home  she  pondered  it.  Something 
shimmered  dimly  and  eluded  her.  .  .  .  She  was 
grazing  the  edge  of  the  great  business  principle 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  173 

that  no  man  can  serve  the  public  without  benefit- 
ing himself.  She  had  always  thought  of  business  as 
selfish — John  Senior's  business,  shrewd  and  unyield- 
ing .  .  .  and  she  was  getting  the  girls  to  buy  hair- 
pins of  her  own  father.  He  would  make  fifty  per 
cent  profit  on  them. 

Her  face  flushed.  Her  eyes  glowed  a  little.  She 
did  not  guess  she  was  face  to  face  with  the  puzzle 
every  big  man  of  business  confronts  first  or  last — 
that  service  and  success  go  hand  in  hand  and  the 
man  who  would  succeed  must  first  serve  others  .  .  . 
not  with  a  long-handled  soup-ladle  reaching  down 
to  the  poor — but  shoulder  to  shoulder,  giving  and 
taking,  prospering  with  those  he  serves  or  going  down 
with  them — tempting  them  with  new  goods  in  his 
show-windows  because  he  is  a  part  of  the  great 
world -force  that  wakes  them  from  sleep.  .  .  . 
Ye  are  all  members  one  of  another.  .  .  .  How 
could  anyone  believe  that?  Yet  it  seemed  to  shim- 
mer before  her. 

The  paper  she  held  in  her  hand  was  not  just  an 
order — for  hairpins ! 

She  laid  it  before  her  father  at  supper,  with  a 
word. 

"I  can't  be  bothered !"  he  said  gruffly. 

"The  girls  need  them,"  she  said. 

"Let  'em  send  in  to  Camden,"  he  replied.  ."It's 
only  a  small  order !" 

She  looked  down  at  it 

Yes,  that  was  all  it  was — a  small  order.  .  .  .  And 
it  was  the  key  in  her  fingers.  But  that  she  did  not 


174  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

know.  She  only  turned  away  with  a  little  feeling 
of  disappointment. 

"Well,  I'll  order  them  myself,"  she  said. 

He  only  grunted. 

"You'll  sell  them  if  I  get  them,  won't  you,  father  ?  " 

"They'll  have  to  pay  cash,"  he  grumbled.  "I 
can't  be  bothered !" 

She  laughed.  "Of  course!  Girls  always  pay 
cash." 

He  gave  grudgingly  the  address  of  the  house 
through  which  he  ordered  goods. 

"Can  I  have  the  order  charged  to  you?"  She 
looked  up  from  her  writing.  He  was  reading  the 
paper. 

"I  don't  want  you  mixing  into  my  affairs  that 
way,"  he  muttered  half-surlily. 

So  she  knew  he  no  longer  had  credit  with  the 
wholesale  house.  She  borrowed  the  money  from 
the  housekeeping  fund  and  sent  a  post-office  order. 
She  wondered  a  little  as  she  dropped  the  letter 
in  the  box  whether  her  father  would  return  the 
money — or  was  she  making  a  present  to  him  and  to 
the  girls  of  those  crinkly  hairpins.  .  .  .  She  shrug- 
ged her  shoulders  and  debated  for  a  minute  dis- 
tributing them  herself  when  they  came — taking  the 
money  for  them — but  she  knew  instinctively  this 
was  not  what  she  wanted.  .  .  .  She  wanted  them 
sold  in  Merton's  store — and  she  wanted  her  father  to 
sell  them. 

The  day  they  came  the  store  went  through  a  thor- 
ough sweeping  behind  the  counter  and  under  the 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  175 

shelves — it  might  almost  have  been  said  to  wash 
behind  its  ears — for  the  first  tune  in  a  year. 

She  thought  her  father  looked  a  little  pleased  when 
he  came  home  at  night.  But  she  did  not  look  at 
him  closely.  She  felt  as  if  they  were  embarking  on  a 
great  adventure,  he  and  she — he  might  abandon  it 
at  any  minute.  She  looked  carefully  away  from  him. 

"There's  your  money,"  he  said  carelessly.  He 
laid  it  by  her  plate.  She  let  it  lie.  Something  went 
singing  inside  her. 

"Did  you  have  enough  to  go  round?" 

He  grinned.  Well,  they  et  'em  up  pretty  fast! 
I  shall  have  to  order  a  few  more,  I  guess."  The 
singing  broke  into  a  chorus,  swinging  about  her. 

"That's  good!"  She  turned  from  it.  "I  wish 
there  was  a  place  somewhere  in  town  that  we  girls 
could  have — "  she  said. 

"A  place?"  repeated  her  mother  vaguely. 

"Yes — a  room — big  enough.  They  want  to  learn 
to  dance." 

"Oh !"  Her  mother's  face  fell.  "I  don't  know's 
the's  any  place  like  that.  .  .  .  Mebbe  their  mothers 
wouldn't  want  them  to,"  she  said  slowly  and  a  little 
coldly. 

"I  don't  believe  they'd  mind — my  mother 
doesn't!"  said  Isabel.  The  woman  smiled  indul- 
gently. 

"Well,  of  course  I  want  you  should  have  a  good 
time  if  you  can.  .  .  .  But  the's  never  been  any 
place  like  that  in  Hanover." 

"Never  needed  it,"  said  her  father.     "Folks  can 


1 76  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

dance  all  they  need  to  doing  dishes,  I  guess ! "    He 
kughed  a  little  glumly. 

" There's  the  engine-house!"  said  Jimmy.  He 
contributed  it  from  a  swift  survey  of  the  town. 

"Jimmie!"  kughed  Isabel.  "We  couldn't  dance 
round  the  fire  engine — like  a  May-pole !" 

"Roll  it  out!"  said  Jimmie.  She  looked  at  him. 
"An'  roll  it  in  again.  Great  fun !  Say,  we  boys  'd 
help !"  He  was  leaning  on  the  table  shining  at  her. 
She  laughed  out.  She  turned  to  her  mother. 

Her  mother  shook  her  head.  "I  do'  'no'.  Ask 
him " 

"Would  they,  father— let  us  do  it?" 

He  chewed  a  minute.  "I  reckon  it'd  depend  on 
how  Silas  Atkins  feels  about  it,"  he  said  slowly.  "If 
Silas  is  willing  you  should  teeter  the  old  engine  out 
and  in,  I  don't  suppose  anybody  else  is  going  to  ob- 
ject or  make  a  fuss  about  it." 

"An'  I'm  going  to  help  roll  her!"  said  Jimmie. 
"Don't  you  forget  that !" 

So  the  decrepit  old  engine  of  Hanover  was  rolled 
out  and  in  through  the  wide  doors.  Silas  protested— 
feebly.  But  there  was  something  in  the  air  that 
overruled  Silas  and  swept  him  along.  The  rolling 
of  the  fire-engine  became  a  function  in  Hanover. 
Assisted  by  small  boys  he  drew  it  out  and  saw  it 
safely  trundled  back.  He  thought  he  was  merely 
rolling  his  old  engine  in  and  out  for  a  parcel  of  girls— 
but  like  the  wooden  horse  of  Troy,  perhaps  he  trun- 
dled in  it  more  than  he  knew. 


XXVI 

WHEN  Althea  Merton  gave  up  her  wedding-dress 
there  was  a  little  pang  in  her  heart.  She  had 
stood  for  a  minute  looking  wistfully  into  the  drawer 
before  she  took  it  out  and  carried  it  down  to  the  girl. 
She  did  not  expect  ever  to  use  it  herself,  but  she  al- 
ways felt  it  there  in  the  drawer — the  last  remnant  of 
her  romance. 

She  could  go  and  look  at  it  any  time  she  wanted 
to.  She  had  a  dumb  sense  that  the  world  was  a  little 
different  because  she  had  the  silk. 

Then  she  had  given  it  to  Isabel  and  she  had  experi- 
enced an  almost  fierce  joy  dipping  it  in  the  dye- 
tub  and  watching  the  dress  grow  into  shape — as 
if  the  old  romance  blossomed  out  of  its  dry  sheath. 
She  had  clothed  the  girl  in  it  with  a  swift,  still  joy 
that  seemed  to  gather  up  her  happiness  and  distill 
it  in  subtler  essence.  Even  the  dancing  had  not 
dimmed  the  glow  for  her.  It  seemed  right  that 
Isabel  should  dance.  The  Braithwaites  were  society 
people.  Isabel  belonged  to  a  new  tune  and  the  new 
time  had  new  ways.  The  grayness  of  life  was  shot 
through  with  rose.  .  .  . 

Then  the  night  the  old  engine  was  rolled  out  of  its 
house  the  girl  came  down  wearing  the  dress. 

Her  mother  looked  up  startled. 

"You're  not  going  to  wear  that  best  dress!"  she 
said  quickly. 

177 


178  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Why,  yes,  I  thought  I  would.  It  makes  me  feel 
like  dancing!" 

The  woman's  eyes  rested  on  it  protectingly. 
"Seems  as  if  you  ought  to  keep  it  for  best,"  she  mur- 
mured. A  fierce  pang  assailed  her.  She  could  not 
bear  to  offer  up  her  last  vestige  of  romance,  waste 
it  on  a  week-day  night — in  the  old  engine-house. 

"It'll  be  dirty  there,"  she  said.  "And  grease 
around,  likely!" 

"No.  It's  clean.  We've  had  it  scrubbed.  And 
the  floor  is  fine — hardwood ! "  Isabel's  feet  danced  a 
little.  But  her  eyes  watched  the  dullness  and  pain 
in  the  look  fixed  on  the  dress. 

"I  sha'n't  hurt  it,  mother!"  she  said  swiftly. 
"And  you  want  me  to  wear  it —  You  gave  it  to  me 
to  wear?" 

"Yes — for  best,"  assented  her  mother.  "I  never 
thought  of  your  wearing  it  common  like  this ! " 

The  girl  stood  thoughtful,  smoothing  a  fold  of  the 
silk  in  her  fingers. 

"It  doesn't  seem  common  to  me,"  she  said  softly. 
"I  can't  say  it — but  it  seems  as  if  something  wonder- 
ful were  coming,  mother!"  She  looked  up  with  a 
little  catch  in  her  breath.  Her  feet  were  not 
dancing  now.  They  stood  very  still  on  the  floor. 
She  seemed  to  grow  taller  as  her  mother  looked. 
"Didn't  you  ever  feel  that  way?"  she  asked  humbly. 

"Why,  no.    I  don't  know's  I  ever  did." 

"As  if  things  bigger  than  you  were  making  you 
do  what  they  wanted,"  said  the  girl  wistfully.  "  Oh, 
it's  strange  and  it  hurts.  But  I  long  so  to  do  it, 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  179 

mother ! "  She  reached  out  her  hands.  Her  mother 
looked  at  them  dumbly. 

"I  guess  you  better  go  to  your  dance,"  she  said  in 
her  drab  voice.  "You  won't  hurt  it — not  if  you're 
careful  about  sitting  down  .  .  .  and  I  don't  suppose 
you'll  do  much  sitting  down?" 

"No — we  won't  do  much  sitting !"  The  catch  in 
her  breath  broke  in  a  little  laugh.  "And  I'll  be 
careful — I  won't  hurt  it!"  He  mother  nodded. 

"You  all  ready  to  go?"  she  asked. 

"Not  quite.    Where's  father?" 

"He  went  out,  some  place.    You  want  him?" 

"No —  Only  here's  an  order  for  some  more  pins. 
I  thought  maybe  he'd  send  it  right  off."  She  laid 
it  on  the  table. 

"I'll  tell  him,"  said  her  mother.  "You  leave  it 
there.  You  want  to  take  your  scarf,  don't  you?" 

"Do  you  think  I  need  it?"  said  Isabel. 

"Well,  dancing  so — you'll  get  all  het  up.  And  you 
don't  want  to  cool  off  sudden."  The  sacrifice  should 
be  complete  and  of  her  own  will. 

When  Isabel  returned  with  the  scarf  Aaron  Mer- 
ton  was  standing  by  the  table  looking  at  the  paper 
she  had  left  there. 

"You'll  send  for  them,  won't  you,  father?" 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to,"  he  grumbled.  He  looked 
at  her.  "  What  you  all  fixed  up  for  ?  " 

"I'm  going  over  to  the  engine-house.  We're  go- 
ing to  dance —  Silas  has  rolled  out  the  engine  for 
us." 

"Humph!"    He  gazed  at  her.    His  eyes  had  a 


i8o  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

curious  glow.  "I  suppose  you  think  you'll  catch  a 
beau !"  he  said  half -tauntingly. 

"I  don't  want  to  catch  a  beau !"  she  flashed. 

"Hoity-toity!  You'll  be  getting  married  some 
day,  same  as  other  folks —  You'll  catch  some  fellow 
all  right!"  He  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  her. 
He  seemed  to  be  seeing  something  that  stirred  him 
strangely.  .  .  .  The  girl  was  as  tall  as  he,  and  her 
eyes  on  a  level  with  his  own  regarded  him  a  moment 
quietly. 

"I  don't  want  to  just  ' catch  some  fellow'  and 
marry  him,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  be  with  the  others. 
...  It  doesn't  make  any  difference  whether  they're 
boys  or  girls —  I  just  want  to  be  with  them."  She 
paused,  searching  it 

"I  can't  explain  to  you  how  it  is  I  feel — but  when 
there's  a  lot  of  us  doing  things  together,  dancing  the 
way  we  did  at  Miss  Braithwaite's  or  singing  or  any- 
thing— just  going  down  the  street,  walking  quick-like, 
the  way  we  do  when  we  go  to  work  in  the  morning, 
it  does  something  to  me.  I  don't  feel  I  am  just  one 
any  more.  I'm  bigger.  I  feel  as  if  we  could  all  take 
hold  together  and  do  things !" 

Her  father  grunted.     He  moved  a  little  uneasily. 

"Well,  you  run  along  and  do  'em,"  he  said  with  a 
forced  laugh.  "Nobody's  going  to  hinder  you." 

He  went  over  to  the  window  and  watched  her 
going  down  the  path.  There  was  a  puzzled  half- 
irritated  look  on  his  face. 

A  runabout  came  quickly  down  the  street  and 
stopped  in  front  of  the  path.  John  Junior  leaped 
out.  Aaron  Merton  leaned  forward  with  a  laugh. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  181 

"There — what  did  I  tell  you !"  he  growled. 

"No — Bel's  not  like  that!"  Her  mother  spoke 
sharply.  She  came  over  and  peered  out.  "He  just 
happened  to  come  along,  I  guess.  Bel  wouldn't 
say  anything  that  wasn't  so." 

"Well,  she's  going  with  him,  all  right !" 

There  had  been  a  minute's  parley.  Then  the  girl 
got  in  and  the  car  wheeled  about  and  was  off — go- 
ing swiftly  up  the  street. 

Aaron  Merton  watched  it  with  a  gruff  chuckle. 

"You  don't  change  young  folks  much,"  he  said. 
"Not  for  all  her  hoity-toity  ways !" 

He  straightened  his  shoulders.  A  little  discom- 
fort slid  from  them — something  that  for  a  moment 
had  passed  from  the  girl's  glance  to  his  and  stirred 
him  vaguely.  ...  As  if  lost  in  the  tangle  of  the 
forest,  drugged  by  tropic-growth,  he  had  heard  a 
horn  blow  faintly — a  high  clear  note  of  challenge. 
Then  the  call  died  away.  The  forest  drowsed.  The 
little  leaves  that  had  vibrated  to  it  were  still  again. 

He  turned  from  the  window  with  a  satisfied  shrug. 

"Looks  as  if  she  was  going  to  do  pretty  well  for 
herself!"  he  said  casually. 

Althea  Merton  looked  at  him  as  if  she  would 
speak.  She  opened  her  lips.  Then  she  closed  them 
again  and  began  to  clear  the  table.  To  her,  too,  it 
seemed  a  pleasant  thing  that  Isabel  and  John  Ber- 
wick should  drive  away  like  that.  She  sang  a  little, 
under  her  breath,  clearing  the  table.  .  .  . 


xxvn 

JOHN  JUNIOR  glanced  at  her  stiffly. 

The  idea  of  a  drive  with  Isabel  had  come  to 
as  an  inspiration.  He  had  made  a  dozen  excuses  to  go 
to  the  office.  .  .  .  She  sat  there  in  her  blue  serge 
dress  clicking  away  as  if  there  were  nothing  hi  life 
but  the  rnterminable  hooks  and  pot-hangers  that 
changed  into  words  under  her  flying  fingers.  He 
hated  note-books.  He  tried  to  make  her  look  up. 

But  the  days  since  John  Senior's  return  were  busy 
ones.  She  clicked  steadily  on  with  only  a  little  nod 
to  show  him  how  very  busy  she  was. 

Then  the  thought  of  the  drive  came  to  him.  He 
would  take  her  for  a  long  drive  and  they  would  come 
back  hi  the  twilight  and  he  would  watch  the  changing 
lights  on  her  face.  .  .  .  Dear  Isabel ! 

But  she  was  not  dear  Isabel,  it  seemed!  She 
would  only  let  him  take  her  as  far  as  the  engine- 
house  and  she  was  full  of  a  happy  excitement  that 
shut  him  out. 

"  We  might  drive  a  little  way,"  he  suggested,  "and 
I  could  leave  you  there,  coming  back." 

She  turned  a  quick  protesting  face 

"But  I  couldn't — I  told  you !  I  promised  the  girls 
to  teach  them  to  dance.  They  will  be  waiting  for 
me!" 

"  Oh,  very  well ! "  He  devoted  himself  to  driving. 
Then  he  relented. 

x8a 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  183 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  for  the  rest-room  if  you 
wanted  to  dance  ?  I  could  have  arranged  to  have  it 
open  for  you  in  the  evening — if  I  had  known." 

She  turned  a  half-smile  to  him. 

"I  thought  of  it,"  she  said. 

"You  had  only  to  ask,"  John  Junior  reminded  her. 
His  voice  was  masterful  and  kind.  She  stirred  a 
little.  She  shook  her  head. 

"No.    It  wouldn't  do!" 

"Why  not?"  a  little  stiffly. 

"Well— "  The  smile  spread  quickly.  "They 
don't  want  to  rest.  They  want  to  dance ! " 

John  Junior  stared  at  her.    She  nodded. 

"It's  such  a  tired  place — the  rest-room!"  She 
spread  her  hands  a  little. 

His  face  flushed.  The  rest-room  was  his  one  con- 
tribution to  the  works. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  He  asked  after 
a  minute.  He  kept  the  annoyance  carefully  from 
his  voice. 

"It's  the  name  partly,"  said  Isabel  slowly  thinking 
it  out.  "Sad,  you  know —  'Now-the-day-is-over' 
and  that  kind  of  thing — and  then  it's  the  place  partly 
— a  north  room  and  sort  of  poky ! "  She  seemed  to 
study  the  rest-room  to  discover  what  was  wrong  with 
it. 

"They  only  use  it  an  hour  or  two,"  said  John 
Junior  defensively. 

"Yes—  It's  all  right  for  an  hour  or  two,"  she  al- 
lowed quickly.  Then  she  laughed. 

"  Somehow  I  wanted  a  new  place — where  we  would 


1 84  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

all  feel  as  if  something  might  happen — anything 
might  happen — you  know?" 

He  stared  gloomily  at  the  engine-house  ahead. 
The  old  engine  stood  on  a  drunken  tilt  by  the  side  of 
the  road. 

He  gave  a  grim  nod.  "Anything  might  happen 
there,  aU  right!" 

But  she  did  not  hear  him.  The  wide  doors  were 
open  and  a  group  of  girls  clustered  just  inside  were 
looking  out  as  they  drove  up. 

Isabel  nodded  and  waved  her  hand  and  they 
swarmed  out. 

"  Here's  Bel !  Come  on  girls ! "  They  ran  forward 
to  the  car  and  opened  the  door.  Before  John  Junior 
could  descend,  Isabel  was  among  them. 

"Thank  you !"  she  said. 

He  touched  his  hat  stiffly  and  drove  away.  They 
had  hardly  noticed  him.  They  had  not  ignored 
him.  They  simply  did  not  see  him.  They  were 
looking  at  Isabel  and  their  faces  were  filled  with  her. 

They  bore  her  laughing  through  the  wide  doors 

"You  never  told  us  you  were  going  to  dress  up, 
Bel!"  They  surveyed  her  and  turned  her  around 
and  fussed  at  bows 

"Awfully  sweet,  isn't  it !" 

"I'd  have  worn  mine — if  I'd  thought  anybody  else 
would."  It  was  regretful — from  Millie  Matoon. 

Isabel  turned  quickly.  "I  didn't  mean  to  wear  it 
Millie !  But  I  just  did  ...  I  guess  it  was  silly  in 
me!" 

"No.    It's  lovely !    Come  on ! " 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  185 

The  victrola  was  playing  and  they  pirouetted  and 
swayed  and  took  half-tentative  dancing  steps.  .  .  . 
One  by  one  Isabel  showed  them  the  steps  the  young 
man  had  taught  her  hi  the  library,  swinging  and 
swaying  with  them,  making  them  feel  that  dancing  is 
"just  being  alive  and  happy."  They  caught  the 
rhythm  and  yielded  to  it  and  embroidered  it  with 
tripping  light-flitting  steps. 

Then  swiftly  certain  girls  seemed  to  emerge  and 
the  music  focused  in  them.  The  others  stood  aside 
to  watch  .  .  .  and  presently  they  were  caught  back 
again  into  the  glow  and  were  dancing  with  happy 
abandon  .  .  .  two  lanterns  swinging  from  a  beam 
above  cast  a  faint  light  on  the  moving  heads  and 
shoulders.  Around  the  lanterns  flew  high-circling 
moths  in  a  nimbus  of  light,  and  the  uplifted  faces 
drifted  into  the  light  and  passed  into  shadow.  Out- 
side the  darkness  had  come  on.  The  wide  doors 
stood  open  to  it,  and  figures  moved  across  it  dimly, 
peering  into  the  engine-house.  Youths  collected  in 
groups  and  went  slowly  or  halted  by  the  wide  doors — 
drawn  like  the  moths  in  the  high  circle  of  light. 

The  girls  paused  and  drifted  to  the  doors  fanning 
their  flushed  cheeks.  The  youths  outside  parleyed, 
they  demanded  to  be  let  in.  But  Isabel  refused 
them  sternly. 

"Not  to-night." 

"Next  week,  perhaps — or  the  week  after."  In  the 
faint  light  that  shone  outside  the  door  the  young 
men  took  clumsy  dancing  steps,  they  jostled  and 
made  grotesque  leaping  motions.  They  watched  the 


1 86  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

moving  figures  and  called  out.  Their  boisterous 
shouts  clashed  with  the  music  and  stirred  the  blood. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  lanterns  were  taken  from  the 
beam  and  blown  out.  The  moths  vanished.  Silas 
Atkins,  assisted  by  four  small  boys,  rolled  the  old 
engine  back  to  its  place.  The  wide  doors  were  closed. 

Hanover  went  to  sleep. 

But  in  dreams  the  little  dance  tunes  kept  time. 
The  faces  smiled  in  their  sleep. 


XXVIII 

BERWICK'S  MILL  hummed  with  the  song.  .  .  . 
Over  and  under  the  steady  whir  of  machines  it  rose 
and  dipped  and  spread  its  shining  wings 

"What  is  yours?"  .  .  .  " I'm  going  to  have— !" 
.  .  .  "Mine's  going  to  be!"  The  frills  grew  and 
fluted  and  trilled. 

And  Isabel  looking  on  and  listening  saw  a  vision — 
She  closed  her  eyes  swiftly,  bewildered 

"No!" 

She  pressed  it  back.  .  .  .    "No —    No!" 

But  the  vision  returned  and  knocked  gently,  ironic- 
ally, insistently.  .  .  . 

She  took  up  her  note-book  and  sought  John  Senior. 

"Will  you  give  me  the  address  of  the  best  furnish- 
ing house  you  deal  with  ?  "  She  said  it  almost  bellig- 
erently. 

He  looked  her  over.  "What  you  going  to  do  with 
it!" 

"I  don't  know  yet.  I  want  to — order  some  goods, 
I  guess." 

He  started. 

"You  going  to  get  married,  Bel?"  There  was 
plain  alarm  in  it.  She  shook  her  head,  dismissing  it. 

" I  just  want  to  get  things.    At  least  I  think  I  do." 

"Going  to  spend  your  raise  on  foolishness,"  he 
grumbled.  "Well — Dart's  in  Boston  is  as  good  a 
place  as  any.  They're  fair.  I've  dealt  with  'em 

187 


1 88  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

twelve  years.  Never  had  a  word  of  complaint  either 
way.  You  know  we  stock  'em  with  hosiery  right 
along — best  grades."  She  nodded  and  hesitated  and 
turned  away. 

"I  thought  you'd  say  they  were,  but  I  wanted  to 
make  sure.  .  .  .  Would  you  mind  my  using  your 
name?"  she  asked  abruptly. 

' '  Why,  no — certainly  not ! "  He  laughed  genially. 
"Not  if  you  don't  get  me  in  too  deep,"  he  added. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  can't  promise.  I  don't 
know  how  deep  I'm  going  to  get  in  myself.  I  wish 
I  did!" 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  There  was  a  little 
flush  in  her  face,  and  her  eyes  danced  with  stars. 
But  behind  the  stars  something  glowed.  It  looked 
at  him,  returning  his  scrutiny  steadily. 

"What  are  you  up  to,  Bel?"  he  asked  severely. 

"I  wouldn't  dare  tell  you !"  she  laughed. 

"Well — I  guess  we'll  risk  it.  And  you  can  let  me 
know  if  you  want  my  advice."  He  looked  at  her. 

"Sure  you  don't  want  me  to  invest  your  money?" 
he  suggested. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  need  my  money  myself. 
...  I  need  all  I  have — and  more,"  she  added  over 
her  shoulder  and  left  him. 

That  night  she  wrote  the  letter  to  Dart  and  Com- 
pany— a  long  letter  that  had  to  be  written  and  re- 
written several  times  before  it  was  finished  to  her 
satisfaction.  She  mailed  it  late  on  the  way  home. 
After  supper  she  approached  her  father. 

"I'd  like  to  put  some  things  in  the  store  next 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  189 

week — if  you  don't  mind,"  she  said  carelessly.  He 
started.  "  What  you  want  to  do  that  for  ?  "  he  asked 
shortly. 

"For  the  girls.  They  need  things — lots  of  things 
they  can't  get  here.  Dresses  and " 

"Dresses ! "  he  snorted.  He  shook  it  off  decisively. 
"I  can't  sell  dresses !" 

"No.     I'm  going  to  sell  them." 

He  looked  at  her.  "You  going  to  leave  Ber- 
wick's?" he  demanded. 

"Saturday  afternoons,"  she  replied.  "We're  free, 
you  know.  I'll  sell  and  they'll  buy.  I  plan  to  sell 
everything  I  put  in — clear  it  all  up  in  one  day." 

"Oh,  you  do!"    It  was  scornful  and  sceptical. 

"May  I  have  the  show-cases  and  shelves  on  the  left 
of  the  door?"  she  asked. 

He  considered  it  grudgingly. 

"I  can't  have  you  disturbing  my  drugs,  you  know." 

"I  sha'n't  disturb  your  drugs.  I  promise  you! 
And  I'll  put  everything  back  the  way  I  found  it — 
when  I'm  through." 

"  All  right."    He  granted  it 

She  rested  on  that — for  the  time.  There  were 
other  things  she  wanted — more  important  things,  but 
she  must  wait. 

She  swept  and  dusted  and  scrubbed  the  space  she 
had  secured.  She  washed  the  show-cases  and  put 
fresh  papers  on  the  shelves  and  washed  the  window. 
Her  father  watched  her  with  gloomy  eye. 

"I  don't  see  what  you  want  to  make  such  a  fuss 
for — just  for  one  afternoon." 


190  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"I  like  it!  "said  Isabel. 

"If  they're  going  to  buy,  they'll  buy,"  he  per- 
sisted, "without  your  killing  yourself !" 

"But  I'm  not  killing  myself — I'm  just  having  a 
good  time ! "  She  was  smiling  at  him. 

He  grunted.  The  next  night  when  she  came  in 
from  the  mill  she  found  both  windows  shining  clean 
and  the  whole  place  smelling  of  soap  and  water. 

"Mis'  Atkins's  been  in  fussing  around,"  he  grum- 
bled. It  was  his  only  reference  to  concessions. 


XXIX 

THE  order  from  Hanover  to  Dart  and  Company 
was  duly  passed  up  by  the  mail-order  clerk  to  the 
Head  of  his  Department.  He  read  it  with  a  little 
perplexed  frown  and  tossed  it  to  the  Head  of  Employ- 
ment Department  who  occupied  the  same  cubicle  in 
the  ground-glass  partitioned  space  on  the  fourth 
floor. 

"  I  wish  you  would  see  what  you  make  of  that ! " 

James  Murphy  read  it  slowly.  The  look  of  inter- 
est deepened  in  his  face 

"Who  is  she — ever  hear  of  her  before?" 

"Never!"  emphatically.  "What  does  she  think 
she's  doing — "  He  moved  a  vague,  irritated  hand. 

"Take  it  to  the  Personal  Service  Bureau,"  said 
Murphy  promptly. 

"Good  idea —  Humph!"  The  man's  face 
lighted.  He  leaned  over  and  made  a  note  on  the  edge 
of  the  letter.  James  Murphy's  hand  retained  it  a 
moment.  He  was  copying  the  address  on  a  memo- 
pad  he  took  from  his  pocket. 

"What  are  you  doing  that  for?"  asked  the  other 
suspiciously. 

"I'm  not  sure  what  I'm  doing  it  for,"  laughed 
Murphy.  "I  always  put  down  a  live  wire  when  I 
come  across  it ! "  He  returned  the  pad  to  his  pocket. 

The  other  man  took  up  the  letter  and  went  out. 

191 


,192  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL' 

James  Murphy  looked  thoughtfully  at  his  desk. 

He  was  a  man  of  quick  decision  and  quick  action. 
Dart  and  Company  paid  him  liberally.  They  val- 
ued him,  as  they  supposed,  for  clear-headedness  and 
the  ability  to  manage  men.  They  had  not  discovered 
that  clear-headedness  was  hardly  more  than  an  open- 
minded  readiness  to  entertain  what  he  called  a  hunch, 
and  his  power  to  handle  men  only  another  name  for  a 
quick,  uncanny  instinct  of  when  to  give  way  and 
when  to  go  ahead.  .  .  .  Flexibility  and  the  sense  of 
humor  in  James  Murphy  did  for  Dart  and  Company 
what  in  the  good  autocratic  days  of  business  was  sup- 
posed to  be  achieved  only  by  i  man  of  fixed  de- 
termination and  iron  will.  .  .  .  He  understood  him- 
self perhaps  little  better  than  did  Dart  and  Company. 
But  he  understood  things  about  the  business  that 
were  sealed  to  them. 

In  spite  of  lunch-rooms,  co-operative  ideas,  votes, 
and  profit-sharing,  he  knew  that  Dart  and  Company 
belonged  to  the  good  old  days  of  shark  business. 
They  nosed  about  in  a  dim  ooze  of  profit  and  loss. 
They  gobbled  or  were  gobbled  according  to  the  run 
of  the  tide.  Theoretically,  the  employees  ran  the 
business  on  strictly  democratic  lines.  Every  em- 
ployee had  a  vote  according  to  rank  and  term  of 
service,  and  therefore  the  employees  controlled  the 
business.  Practically,  Dart  and  Company  held  the 
money — and  therefore  controlled  the  business.  The 
theory  of  democracy  was  not  a  sop  flung  to  the  em- 
ployees. It  was  an  honestly  extended  olive-branch. 
Dart  and  Company  would  have  been  glad  to  go 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  193 

further — offer  up  the  whole  olive-tree  if  need  be — 
but  they  recognized  danger  to  the  Ark  in  uncharted 
waters.  .  .  .  They  did  not  see  their  way  clear 
to  allowing  employees  control  over  real  money. 
Neither  did  James  Murphy.  But  he  saw  clearly, 
what  Dart  and  Company  only  glimpsed  in  uneasy 
moments — that  the  conduct  of  the  business  had  no 
real  relation  to  the  tide  of  life  that  was  running  in 
the  world. 

He  attended  meetings  of  the  employees  and  cast 
his  vote  with  the  rest,  and  apportioned  fines  and 
honors  and  advances  on  the  pay-roll — but  he  knew 
that  the  profits  shared  by  a  thousand  did  not  differ 
essentially  from  profits  shared  by  Dart  and  Com- 
pany alone. 

Something  was  lacking.  James  Murphy  suspected 
that  the  thing  that  was  lacking  was  life. 

The  process  was  mechanical.  Perhaps  it  ought  to 
be  biological  ?  He  pondered  it.  ... 

A  genuinely  "democratic"  business  he  was  com- 
ing to  suspect  would  be  a  business — that  grows  and 
develops  as  a  tree  or  an  animal  or  a  man  grows  and 
develops — alive  all  over.  .  .  .  All  the  parts  of  a  live 
business  must  be  vitally  interdependent — not  nom- 
inally and  mechanically  interdependent. 

Stated  in  these  terms,  James  Murphy  saw  that  a 
live  business  was  a  terrible  risk. 

You  cannot  throw  money  about  recklessly — with- 
out a  string  tied  to  it.  Money  must  be  protected, 
kept  safe — for  the  good  of  the  business.  James 
Murphy  recognized  this  as  clearly  as  did  Dart  and 


194  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

Company.  He  knew  the  sacred  obligation  of  money. 
But  he  had  a  hunch  that  there  might  be  a  live  way 
of  doing  business — if  one  could  hit  on  it.  Business  as 
the  medium  of  exchange  between  living  beings,  itself 
a  living  thing,  must  be  governed  by  biologic  law. 

Meanwhile  he  was  the  most  successful  department 
manager  Dart  and  Company  had  in  their  employ. 
They  called  him  a  good  mixer. 

He  wondered  sometimes  whether  the  parts  of  an 
organism  were  not  held  together,  run  together,  "ani- 
mated "  by  something  different  from  the  parts  them- 
selves—  something  without  which  they  would  be 
inactive,  sluggish,  half-alive — a  kind  of  "  life  force  " 
— electricity — radium?  He  could  not  name  it — 
safely.  But  he  knew  that  group-work  had  its  own 
peculiar  laws  and  principles.  To  Dart  and  Company 
twelve  men  selected  and  set  to  a  given  piece  of  work 
were  twelve  men  and  should  be  treated  as  twelve 
men.  To  Murphy  the  group  was  something  entirely 
different  from  the  twelve  men.  It  was  more  than 
twelve  times  bigger  than  any  one  of  them — and 
different. 

' '  I  get  the  dozen  together, ' '  he  would  say.  ' '  Noth- 
ing doing !  I  take  nine  of  the  dozen  and  three  new 
ones,  and  they  seem  to  melt  together.  They  move 
and  speak  and  act  like  one  man.  They  think  and 
act  together — get  things  done!" 

He  knew  dimly  that  he  got  the  best  results  from 
men  working  together  who  were  not  too  much  alike 
.  .  .  but  he  had  never  been  able  to  make  Dart  and 
Company  understand  that  he  liked  a  few  stupid  ones 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  195 

in  every  batch.  ...  A  group  of  "picked"  men  he 
had  discovered  was  likely  to  be  too  keen,  too  efficient, 
too  enterprising — each  man  for  himself!  They 
were  "dead"  in  the  group-sense 

There  were  elements  and  combinations  in  the  re- 
gion of  the  spirit  as  truly  as  in  the  material  world. 
But  their  laws  and  psychology  were  hidden  from 
him. 

He  sat  staring  at  his  desk,  thinking  of  the  letter  he 
had  just  read. 

Something  in  it  gave  him  a  sense  that  this  "Isa- 
bel "-  He  glanced  at  the  name  on  his  pad —  "  Isa- 
bel Merton — Hanover"  was  conducting  her  business 
in  an  interesting  way.  He  would  like  to  know  more 
about  her. 

Dart  and  Company  needed  new  blood,  all  the  new 
blood  they  could  get.  .  .  . 

The  head  of  the  Mail-Order  Department  laid 
the  letter  before  the  head  of  the  Personal  Service 
Bureau. 

"Can  you  make  anything  out  of  it?"  he  asked 
cautiously. 

She  read  a  page  and  looked  ahead  and  looked  back. 
Her  eyes  skimmed  it  rapidly.  Her  face  lighted 

"Why--don't  you  see?" 

"Can't  say  I  do!  Here — "  He  took  it  and 
turned  a  page.  .  .  .  "'This  dress  is  for  a  blond, 
short,  usually  smiling,  bust  36  in.,  skirt  28,  neck 
square — not  too  low.  Blue  material,  with  sleeves 
soft  white  stuff — a  little  of  same  at  neck. ' ' 

"Now  what  does  she  think  she's  doing!"  he  said 


196  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

scornfully.  "Having  a  dress  made  to  order?  The 
whole  thing  is  like  that — and  she  wants  them  by 
Wednesday — rash  order !  What  do  you  think  we'd 
better  do  with  it?" 

The  woman  was  deep  in  the  letter.  She  looked  up 
with  a  twinkle  at  the  question 

"Do—?    Why,  fill  the  order,  of  course !" 

"Make  her  seventeen  dresses — to  sell  on  commis- 
sion. And  have  them  back  on  our  hands  next  week  ? 
We  don't  do  business  that  way."  He  said  it  firmly. 

"But  you  see — she  says  she  will  buy  them  outright 
with  the  privilege  of  returning  twenty-five  per  cent 
of  the  order  within  ten  days — or  she  will  take  them 
on  commission,  returning  all  goods  not  sold.  That's 
fair  enough." 

"But  goods  to  order !"  he  protested. 

The  woman  laughed.  "You  don't  see  what  she's 
after!  She's  just  trying  to  give  us  an  idea  of  the 
personality  of  the  dresses." 

"Personality  of  the — dresses!"  He  surveyed  it 
and  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  get  it ! " 

"Well,  I  do.  It's  the  most  sensible  order  I've  had 
in  a  long  time.  I'd  like  to  know  the  girl  that  wrote 
it."  She  was  looking  at  the  letter  reflectively. 
"You  see  the  little  sketches  here  on  the  edge — to 
help  out?  She's  clever." 

"Too  clever  for  me !"  admitted  the  man. 

"I  wish  you'd  let  me  have  this  order,"  he  said 
quickly,  "give  me  a  free  hand — will  you?" 

"All  right."  He  glanced  along  the  pages. 
"There  are  other  things,  you  see,  besides  the  dresses 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  197 

— neckwear,  toilet  articles,  manicure  pieces — with 
discretion  to  use  'judgment."  He  smiled  sceptic- 
ally. "You  want  the  whole  thing?" 

"Every  item!"  she  replied,  answering  the  smile 
with  a  satisfied  nod.  "I'm  going  to  have  a  good  tune 
with  it!" 

"Hanover  is  a  small  place,"  said  the  man,  holding 
on  to  it  doubtingly.  "We  get  our  hosiery  line  from 
there — Berwick's,  you  know.  These  things  are 
probably  going  to  mill-girls.  Don't  make  the  mis- 
take of  sending  things  she  can't  sell." 

"She  is  going  to  have  the  best  the  store  can  give 
her,"  rejoined  the  woman.  "And  I  would  be  willing 
to  make  a  good  big  bet  we  don't  have  them  back 
either." 

"Oh,  all  right! —  Wednesday,  you  see  she  says. 
You  will  have  to  put  it  through  fast." 

The  next  day  the  entire  force  of  the  Personal  Ser- 
vice Bureau  of  Dart  and  Company  was  turned  on 
to  the  order  from  Hanover.  They  woke  up  and 
laughed.  They  debated  details  and  scanned  the 
order  with  keen  interest.  Something  of  the  devotion 
that  had  focused  itself  on  Millie  Matoon  and  had 
evoked  a  dress  "usually  srniling,"  communicated  it- 
self to  the  staff  of  Dart  and  Company. 

Echoes  of  it  reached  James  Murphy.  He  stopped 
at  the  Personal  Service  Bureau. 

"We  should  not  need  you  if  we  had  a  few  like  her 
in  every  community,"  he  suggested  to  the  head. 
"You  would  lose  your  business !" 

"She  would  make  business  for  me,"  replied  the 


198  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

woman.    "She  isn't  stealing  other  people's  market. 

She's  making  a  new  one." 
"Maybe  you're  right.  .  .  .    Just  room-rent  and 

the  right  kind  of  woman — wake  up  a  big  trade — 

every  little  community.  .  .  ." 

She  nodded.    "That's  it !—    Big  trade ! " 
James  Murphy  went  on  contented.    He  knew  he 

could  wake  up  big  trade —    But  he  had  other  things 

in  his  head  just  then  to  think  of  that  interested  him 

more  than  waking  up  trade. 


XXX 

ISABEL  encountered  the  expressman  on  the  way  to 
the  mill.  He  halted  her  and  held  up  a  hand — 

"There's  a  lot  of  truck  come  for  you  up  t'  the  sta- 
tion," he  announced.  "Where  you  want  it  de- 
livered ?—  Much  as  six-seven  boxes  of  it." 

"Take  it  to  my  father's  store,"  said  Isabel.  She 
went  on  with  quick  steps,  smiling.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ever  said  "my  father's  store"  without 
a  little  sense  of  shame. 

She  found  him  working  over  the  boxes  when  she 
came  in  that  night.  He  had  opened  them  and  the 
contents  were  ready  to  lift  from  their  wrappings. 
She  looked  about  her  dubiously. 

"I  think  I'll  leave  them  there  for  the  present." 
She  nodded  to  the  box. 

"They'll  get  all  wrinkled,  won't  they?"  he  pro- 
tested. 

"Well,  perhaps.  But  I  can't  risk  having  them 
exposed  for  so  long.  .  .  .  We  can  unpack  the  show- 
case things  now." 

He  helped  her  take  out  the  filmy  fichus  and  delicate 
ribbons  and  cuffs  and  collars  and  arrange  them  in 
the  show-case.  The  colors  glowed  behind  the  glass 
till  they  seemed  to  light  up  the  room. 

"We'll  cover  them  over  till  Saturday,"  said  Isabel. 
She  looked  thoughtfully  toward  the  back-room. 

199 


200  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

There  was  a  sound  of  mumbled  low  voices  from  the 
back-room  and  now  and  then  the  clearing  of  a  throat 
and  spitting. 

She  knew  who  were  in  there —  Andrew  Crane 
and  Roger  Jepson.  They  were  always  in  the  back- 
room. They  spent  their  days  there.  And  her 
father  with  them.  .  .  . 

"I  don't  suppose  I  could  have  the  back-room  to 
use?" 

He  started  and  glanced  at  her. 

"For  a  trying-on  room  and  to  hang  the  dresses 
in?" 

"No,  I  couldn't  spare  the  back-room,"  he  said 
hastily. 

She  sighed.  "Well — we'll  have  to  do  the  best  we 
can.  .  .  .  Perhaps  we  can  string  a  curtain  across 
here — "  She  stood  looking  at  it. 

The  door  opened.  Two  men  came  out  of  the  room. 
They  were  tall  and  their  shoulders  stooped  a  little. 
Both  had  red  rims  about  the  eyes. 

She  glanced  at  them  and  nodded  pleasantly. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Crane.  Good-evening,  Mr. 
Jepson."  It  was  cordial  but  reserved. 

They  mumbled  past  her  with  side  glances  at  the 
show-case. 

Aaron  Merton  followed  them  to  the  door.  They 
were  older  men  and  he  seemed  to  follow  in  their 
wake  as  if  they  swept  him  along. 

"  Come  again ! "  he  said  with  forced  joviality. 

They  nodded.  They  looked  back  into  the  store 
where  the  girl  stood  glowing  against  the .  show-case 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  201 

with  its  flimsy  feminine  trifles.  Jepson  nodded 
sourly.  He  spat  to  one  side. 

"  We'll  be  round  to-morrow,"  he  said. 

They  went  down  the  street,  their  canes  held  loosely 
and  dragging  a  little. 

Aaron  stood  in  the  door  looking  after  them,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  Presently  he  came  back  to  the 
store. 

Isabel  hovering  over  the  unpacked  boxes  looked 
up.  There  was  a  kind  of  soft  brilliance  about  her. 
...  He  motioned  toward  the  door  of  the  back- 
room. 

"You  might  as  well  have  it — for  your  trying-on 
— if  you  want  it,"  he  said. 

It  seemed  to  her  her  heart  stopped  beating. 
Then  it  went  on  with  a  leap.  She  crossed  to  the 
door  and  opened  it  and  her  glance  swept  the  room — • 
small  and  bare  and  filled  with  a  stale  flat  smell  that 
choked  her  a  little.  .  .  .  Three  chairs  and  a  table 
and  three  dirty  tumblers  on  the  shelf.  .  .  .  There 
was  nothing  else  in  the  back-room — but  the  stale 
smell. 

She  had  never  seen  the  inside  of  the  room  before. 
It  had  always  stood  to  her  for  vague  shame,  a  shad- 
owy menace.  It  seemed  amazing  that  there  was 
nothing  sinister  about  it — just  the  flat  stale  smell  of 
deadness. 

She  moved  to  one  of  the  windows  and  threw  it 
up  and  then  to  the  other.  The  spring  air  came  in 
freshly.  She  turned  back.  Her  father  was  standing 
in  the  door,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 


202  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"All  right  for  you?"  he  asked. 
"Fine!"    She   looked   about   her   happily.     "It 
couldn't  be  better.    I'll  clear  it  up   a  little   to- 


morrow." 


"Better  have  Mis'  Atkins  do  the  heft  of  it,"  he 
said.  "She's  coming  over  in  the  morning.  I'll 
put  her  in  here,  first  thing " 

Isabel  came  out.  She  looked  back  at  the  room. 
She  glanced  about  her  for  a  piece  of  paper  and  found 
a  large  sheet  and  wrote  on  it  in  her  clear  firm  hand : 

"Engaged.  No  Admittance —  Closed  for  Re- 
pairs." She  pinned  the  paper  firmly  on  the  door 
and  stood  back  and  looked  at  it.  Her  father  glanced 
up.  He  came  over. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked  sharply. 

He  read  it  grimly  and  turned  away. 

"You  ready  to  go  home?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I'm  ready,  I  guess." 

He  closed  the  door  and  locked  it  and  put  the  key 
in  his  pocket.  There  was  no  need  to  leave  any  one  in 
the  store.  There  would  be  no  customers.  And 
Jepson  and  Andrew  Crane  had  gone  home  for  the 
night. 

When  they  arrived  the  next  morning  Aaron  was 
outside  the  door.  He  did  not  follow  them  into  the 
store.  They  took  their  accustomed  path  to  the  back- 
room. At  the  door  they  halted. 

The  door  was  open  and  inside  Mrs.  Atkins  on  her 
knees  was  scrubbing  with  a  large  brush.  They 
looked  down  at  her  silently.  Jepson's  eye  turned. 
It  read  the  sign  on  the  door. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  203 

He  pointed  a  long  finger  and  Crane  brought  his 
red-rimmed  eyes  close  to  it  and  read  it  slowly.  They 
turned  about  and  went  back — past  the  show-case 
with  the  gay  shining  colors,  past  the  clean  counter  to 
a  bench  outside  the  store. 

They  sat  down  on  the  narrow  bench.  They  folded 
their  hands  on  top  of  their  canes  and  gazed  straight 
ahead.  Aaron  Merton  seemed  to  have  disappeared. 

Jepson  spat  sideways  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"Women!  "he  said. 

"Yep!-     Gew-gaws!" 

They  did  not  speak  again.  After  a  little  while 
they  rose  and  went  down  the  street,  their  loose-held 
canes  dragging  and  tapping  uncertainly  as  they  went. 

The  next  day  they  did  not  return — nor  the  next. 
They  had  found  another  roosting-place. 

The  little  back-room  smelled  rankly  of  soap-suds. 


XXXI 

THE  car  stopped  in  front  of  the  mill  and  Ellen 
Braithwaite  looked  up  at  the  office  windows. 

She  got  out  quickly.  She  was  late.  The  door 
might  be  locked —  But  the  latch  yielded  to  her 
touch  and  she  went  swiftly  down  the  hall  and  up- 
stairs to  the  office. 

She  was  going  to  take  Isabel  home  with  her.  She 
had  formed  the  habit  of  coming  in  and  carrying  her 
off  like  this.  Sometimes  she  drove  her  home  and 
sometimes  they  went  for  long  drives  and  Isabel  spent 
the  night  with  her. 

She  had  not  seen  her  for  over  a  week  now.  She 
had  been  out  of  town  and  busy.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  flush  of  pleasure  on  her  face  as  she 
tapped  on  the  office  door. 

"  Come  hi ! "  It  was  a  high  quick  voice  and  Ellen 
Braithwaite  turned  the  knob  reluctantly. 

The  girl  at  the  typewriter  by  the  window  cast  a 
look  of  inquiry  at  her. 

"Oh—  It's  you?"  she  said  stiffly.  She  half 
turned  back  to  her  machine. 

"Is  Miss  Merton  here?" 

"No."    It  was  short.     "Bel's  left." 

"Left?"    The  voice  was  puzzled. 

"Yes.  'Left.'"  The  word  mimicked  the  cul- 

204 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  205 

tivated  intonation.  "Don't  you  see  it's  after 
hours  ?  "  She  motioned  brusquely  to  the  clock  over 
John  Senior's  desk. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  moved  toward  the  door. 

"She's  gone  home.  I'm  finishing  up  for  her,"  said 
Fannie. 

" She  isn't  ill?" 

"No."  It  was  short  again.  There  was  fierce 
jealousy  in  the  eyes  by  the  window.  .  .  .  She 
needn't  think  because  she  could  carry  off  Bel  in  her 
car  any  time  she  liked — she  needn't  think  she  owned 
her!  The  shoulders  shrugged  themselves  toward 
the  machine.  Ellen  Braithwaite  accepted  the  snub 
unseeing. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  find  her  at  home,"  she  said 
thoughtfully.  She  opened  the  door. 

Fannie's  close-shut  mouth  watched  her  go.  .  .  . 
She  heard  the  footsteps  growing  faint.  She  held  her 
peace.  A  door  below  slammed. 

She  leaned  out — far  out. 

"Oh-     Say!  "she  called. 

Ellen  looked  up. 

"She  didn't  go  home!"  said  Fannie  crossly. 
"She's  down  there  at  the  store." 

"Thank  you!"  said  Ellen  Braithwaite.  She 
moved  a  grateful  hand.  But  the  gesture  was  lost. 

The  head  had  disappeared.  There  was  only  a 
blank  window.  No  sign  of  Fannie  attacking  her 
copy  fiercely — no  echo  of  words  addressed  spitefully 
to  the  machine. 

"Pig!"  and  again  fiercely  "Pig-pig-pig!"    Click- 


206  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

ety-clack!  Clack-clack!  Clickety-clack !  Clack- 
clack-clack  ! 

Ellen  Braithwaite  waited  a  second.  She  looked 
up  hopefully  at  the  window.  But  there  was  no  sign. 
She  spoke  to  the  chauffeur  and  got  in. 

She  wondered  a  little  that  Isabel  should  be  at  the 
store.  Her  memory  of  the  store  was  vivid.  She 
had  called  there  one  afternoon  hi  driving  through, 
to  try  to  get  a  cork  for  the  thermos-bottle.  She  had 
remained  only  long  enough  for  the  surly  refusal  and 
had  escaped  into  the  fresh  clean  air  with  a  f eeling  of 
relief.  .  .  .  She  could  not  imagine  Isabel  in  the  store. 

She  leaned  back  in  the  car,  smiling — thinking  of 
the  girl  who  was  coming  to  play  so  large  a  part  in  her 
life.  .  .  .  Merely  to  have  her  near — going  about 
the  house,  sitting  by  the  fire  reading,  talking  with  her 
father — whatever  Isabel  did  pleased  her  and  gave 
her  a  sense  of  youth.  It  was  not  so  much  that  she 
recalled  her  own  youth  to  her,  as  that  she  was  the 
spirit  of  youth  itself.  All  her  own  sophisticated 
girlhood — the  years  of  flitting  from  one  European 
capital  to  another,  became  unreal  and  vague,  a  half- 
remembered  dream.  .  .  .  She  was  alive  and  re- 
sponding to  the  happiness  that  overflowed  from  the 
girl's  presence. 

But  Isabel  in  Aaron  Merton's  drug-store ! 

She  recalled  the  place  with  a  little  shiver  of  disgust. 

The  car  stopped  and  she  got  out  reluctantly.  She 
would  call  for  her  and  carry  her  swiftly  away.  .  .  . 
Through  the  open  door  the  light  behind  her  shone 
into  the  dim  room. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  207 

Bits  of  color  emerged  shadowily.  The  dusky  in- 
terior seemed  to  glow  and  come  alive  with  color  as 
she  peered  in  bewildered.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
store  and  she  moved  about  uncertainly  bending  to 
the  show-cases — looking  with  her  near-sighted  gaze 
at  the  shelves  behind  the  cases.  A  vague  smile 
touched  her  lips. 

A  sound  came  from  the  door  of  the  back-room  and 
she  whirled  about 

"Isabel — !"  She  moved  an  imperious  hand  that 
took  in  the  room—  "What  is  it  all  about?"  she 
demanded.  Isabel  laughed. 

"  Come  hi  here ! "  She  drew  her  toward  the  back- 
room. 

They  stood  in  the  doorway  looking  in.  ...  The 
plain  square  room  with  its  white  walls  and  doors 
seemed  a  place  withdrawn — an  oratory  of  cleanli- 
ness. .  .  .  Aaron  Merton  coming  on  it  that  morn- 
ing had  had  a  slow  uneasy  feeling  that  he  was  look- 
ing on  a  place  swept  and  garnished.  It  was  white 
and  clean  and  still.  The  spirits  of  Crane  and  Roger 
Jepson  were  exorcised  forever.  .  .  .  Thin  white 
curtains  depended  from  brass  rods,  and  behind  the 
curtains  long  light  sprays  of  forsythia  and  maple- 
buds  reached  nearly  to  the  window-tops.  They 
showed  faintly  through  the  thin  sheer  material 
against  the  light  outside. 

"  Charming ! "  said  EUen  Braithwaite.  "But  what 
is  it,  child?" 

"I'm  getting  ready  for  to-morrow,"  said  Isabel. 
She  motioned  to  the  large  open  box  in  the  middle 


208  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

of  the  room —  "I'm  going  to  take  them  out  and 
you  can  stay  and  help."  She  bent  over  the  box. 

"But  I  want  to  take  you  home  with  me,"  said 
Ellen  Braithwaite  quickly.  Isabel  shook  her  head. 

"Not  to-night.  I  can't— not  to-night!"  She 
lifted  a  dress  and  shook  it  a  little  and  held  it  out. 

"I  am  going  to  have  a  sale —  See?"  She 
balanced  it  deftly  on  a  hanger  and  slipped  it  on  the 
pole  that  ran  across  one  side  of  the  room. 

"That  will  be  nice  for  Emily  Wood!"  she  said. 
She  stood  back  and  looked  at  it. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  drew  off  her  gloves  and  dropped 
to  her  knees  by  the  box. 

"You  are  crazy!"  she  murmured.  "Why  didn't 
you  tell  me?" 

They  lifted  the  garments  and  smoothed  them  and 
hung  them  up,  revelling  in  them.  The  light  grew 
dim.  The  forsythia  stems  behind  the  curtains  were 
vaguely  dark.  The  dresses  they  lifted  and  hung  in 
place  became  light-swaying  ghosts. 

The  room  was  a  charmed  place. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  leaned  quickly  and  kissed 
Isabel. 

"I  must  go!"  she  said.  "I'm  late  to  dinner. 
That's  the  last  one,  isn't  it  ?  "  She  gazed  at  the  dress 
Isabel  was  placing  on  the  pole. 

"Isn't  it  sweet!"  She  came  nearer  to  it.  "I 
must  have  that  one,  dear — !  Sell  it  to  me !" 

But  Isabel  covered  it  with  protecting  hands. 

"That  is  Millie  Matoon's  dress,"  she  said  sternly. 
"You  can't  have  Millie's  dress!" 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  209 

"But  you  can  order  another  one  for  her !" 

"And  how  would  Millie  feel  to-morrow — with  all 
the  others  having  their  pretty  things!"  She  drew 
her  away  from  temptation  and  Ellen  yielded  with  a 
smile. 

"Besides,"  said  Isabel,  "it's  not  your  style!" 

"No."  Ellen  Braithwaite  was  meek.  "I  knew 
you  would  say  that.  ...  I  took  the  sketch  you 
made  for  me  to  Madame  Letska.  She  says  it  will 
be  wonderful.  You  should  have  heard  her  rave — 
1  Extraordinaire  and  chic,  Mademoiselle!"  She 
spread  her  hands. 

"Yes.  It's  just  right  for  you,"  said  Isabel. 
There  was  no  pride  in  the  words.  They  simply 
stated  a  fact. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  looked  at  her  critically.  "I 
don't  see  how  you  do  it,  Isabel.  You  just  to  take  a 
pencil  and  it  comes  trailing  off  the  point." 

"Oh,  I  think  about  it— "protested  Isabel.  "And 
I  love  it  too,"  she  added  half -shyly.  "You  have  to 
coax  them  a  little,  you  know!" 

"Was  that  how  you  came  to  think  of  doing  this?" 
She  moved  a  hand  to  the  light-swaying  dresses  sus- 
pended from  their  pole.  She  looked  at  Isabel — 
"Did  you  coax  the  idea  of  selling  things  till  it  came 
alive  like  this?" 

For  a  moment  in  the  dim  light  the  girl's  face 
seemed  to  draw  back.  .  .  .  "Oh,  I  didn't  coax!" 
she  said  under  her  breath.  "I  did  not  want  it — I 
did  not  want  it!"  she  repeated  the  words  almost 
fiercely  and  put  out  a  hand — fending  it  off. 


210  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Then  why ?" 

"I  couldn't  help  it!  It  wouldn't  let  me  go!  I 
tried  to  run  away  from  it!"  There  was  fear  and 
swift  awe  in  the  words.  "But  it  swept  me  along. 
.  .  .  When  I  tried  to  hold  back,  it  got  bigger  and 
bigger — swallowed  me  up!"  She  ended  with  a 
breathless  gasp  and  a  laugh.  Her  hand  rested  on 
Ellen  Braithwaite's  shoulder.  Her  eyes  seemed 
looking  at  a  vision  beyond  the  dun  room. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  put  an  arm  about  her  protect- 
ingly. 

"You  mean  the  money  and  the  risk?" 

The  vision  broke  in  a  quick  laugh.  "Oh,  dear, 
no ! —  I'm  selling  them  on  commission.  And  any- 
way the  girls  will  want  them.  They  are  crazy  to 
buy.  They're  all  coming  alive !  .  .  .  That's  what 
I  mean — what  I  am  afraid  of.  There's  something 
happening  here  in  Hanover.  It's  big  and  still  and 
down  underneath.  .  .  .  And  nobody  knows  it's 
here — but  me !  And  at  night  it  comes  with  its  big- 
ness— and  I  am  afraid !  It  lets  me  see  things — just 
in  a  flash  and  then  it's  gone.  But  it  knows  I'll 
have  to  do  what  it  wants.  ..." 

"I  am  afraid  of  it!  I  am  afraid!—  Why  are 
there  things  like  that  in  the  world !"  she  demanded. 

Her  hands  were  clinched  at  her  sides  and  she 
seemed  to  grow  and  fill  the  room  with  the  demand  of 
her  youth. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  bent  to  her  swiftly.  "I  will 
help  you !  Let  me  come  to-morrow — and  help  sell 
them."  She  motioned  with  a  quick  hand  to  the 
dresses  swaying  mistily. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  211 

"No,  no!    You  mustn't!" 

"Oh — if  you  don't  want  me — !"    She  drew  back. 

"But  it  isn't  whether  I  want  you — and  it  isn't  me 
at  all !  It's  the  girls  and  me  together.  I  can't  get 
away  from  them.  ...  I  don't  want  to  get  away 
from  them — I  don't  want  to  get  away ! "  She  half- 
whispered  the  words.  "If  you  were  here  something 
would  stop.  It  would  be  dead." 

"Yes,  I  would  kill  anything  I  touched — I  know !" 
Her  voice  admitted  it  bitterly. 

Isabel's  hand  reached  to  her.  "Wait!"  she  said, 
"till  I  know.  .  .  .  Then  I  shall  need  you.  But 
now  I  don't  even  know  what  it  is  I  am  trying  to  do- 
Perhaps  I'm  just  trying  to  make  money!"  she 
added  whimsically. 

There  was  a  step  in  the  outer  room 

" There  is  father!    He  is  back  from  supper." 

They  passed  into  the  outer  room.  Aaron  Merton 
lighting  a  lamp  on  a  side-bracket  turned  his  head  a 
little.  The  match  flared  up  and  lighted  his  face  and 
made  it  darkly  keen,  glancing  at  them. 

"This  is  Miss  Braithwaite,  father.  I've  been 
showing  her  the  new  things." 

"I'm  glad  to  meet  you,"  said  Aaron.  He  came 
over  and  held  out  his  hand.  The  face  the  match 
had  lighted  up  for  an  instant  was  dull  again.  But 
Isabel  had  a  sense  that  her  father  was  pleased. 

He  motioned  to  the  show-cases.  "We've  got  some 
mighty  pretty  things,"  he  said  carelessly. 

"They  are  charming!"  Ellen  Braithwaite  bent 
over  the  case.  "You  really  must  let  me  buy  some- 
thing, Isabel — for  good  luck!" 


212  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"They're  all  for  sale/'  said  Aaron  genially. 

Isabel  hovered  protectingly  near.  But  Ellen 
Braithwaite  ignored  her. 

"I  want  that  collar,"  she  said,  "the  one  with  em- 
broidered ends — yes.  I  really  must  have  it ! " 

Isabel  took  it  out  reluctantly.  Her  ringers  seemed 
to  smooth  and  caress  it.  They  made  a  half-jealous 
movement  to  return  it  to  the  case. 

"Millie  Matoon's?"  asked  Ellen  mischievously. 
Isabel  shook  her  head 

"I'd  thought  of  Edith  Shephard,"  she  said  softly. 

"How  much  have  you  marked  it?"  asked  Aaron. 
He  reached  a  quick  hand  to  the  tag 

"A  dollar  and  a  half,  Miss  Braithwaite." 

"I'll  take  it,"  said  Ellen  promptly.  Her  fingers 
pressed  the  money  into  Isabel's  coaxingly.  "Just 
for  luck!"  she  whispered.  "I  want  to  be  in  it— 
Don't  shut  me  out  of  all  the  bigness,  Isabel ! " 

The  little  smile  lingered  on  Isabel's  lips  after  the 
car  rolled  away.  She  was  rearranging  the  collars 
in  the  case  to  cover  the  vacant  spot. 

Her  father  came  over  and  looked  in.  "You're 
not  much  of  a  salesman !"  he  said  jovially.  "Why, 
she  wouldn't  'a'  bought  a  thing — if  it  hadn't  been 
for  me !"  Isabel  looked  up.  The  smile  on  her  lips 
leaped  up  and  touched  her  eyes 

"That's  right,  father— I  don't  believe  she  would !" 

He  nodded  proudly.  "It  takes  experience.  .  .  . 
There's  a  knack  in  everything — even  selling  goods. 
You  have  your  stock  there — and  your  customer. 
All  you  have  to  do  is  to  link  'em  up." 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  213 

"Yes,  that's  all!"  said  Isabel  quietly.  The  stars 
in  her  eyes  were  lighted  now.  They  danced  a  little. 

"Take  just  the  right  minute — say  just  the  right 
thing,"  said  Aaron  expansively,  "and  you've  turned 
the  trick !  It's  a  knack — like  everything  else." 

"I'd  thought  of  leaving  some  of  the  things  here- 
after to-morrow,"  said  Isabel.  "Would  you  mind? 
They  could  stay  hi  the  cases — there  might  be  cus- 
tomers ! "  She  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"Sure!"  he  said  heartily.  "Glad  to  help  you 
out!"  He  looked  reflectively  at  the  show-case,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  "I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't 
keep  this  sort  of  thing  right  along.  .  .  .  There 
might  be  money  in  it." 

"Yes.  There  might  be,"  admitted  Isabel.  She 
held  her  breath. 

"No  harm  in  trying,"  said  Aaron.  He  whistled 
softly  through  his  teeth  a  minute,  gazing  at  the  things 
in  the  case. 

She  left  him  standing  there  staring  at  the  feminine 
trifles.  She  went  into  the  back-room.  Her  heart 
held  itself.  The  light-hanging  ghosts  swayed  dimly 
and  illusively.  .  .  .  They  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
signal  to  her. 


XXXII 

IN  the  back-room  they  hovered  and  hummed — 
with  the  buzz  and  whir  of  a  hive.  .  .  .  The  voices 
rose  and  fell  in  an  exultant  happy  rhythm. 

Aaron  Merton  alone  in  the  outer  store  with  the 
show-cases  had  little  trade.  A  girl  would  come 
hesitatingly  hi  and  pause  a  minute  hovering  above 
the  dainty  things  in  the  case.  Then  the  laughter 
and  hum  hi  the  room  beyond  would  sweep  her  along 
and  Aaron  would  be  left  alone  staring  at  the  door. 

He  stared  a  little  resentfully  at  the  back-room. 
Then  he  glanced  through  the  window  at  the  sidewalk. 
A  Greek  girl  had  descended  from  her  farm-wagon 
and  was  tying  her  horse  to  the  ring  in  front  of  the 
store.  Aaron  watched  her  idly.  .  .  .  Those  Greeks 
had  a  way  with  them  as  if  they  owned  all  creation ! 
Heads  up,  striding  along 

The  girl  moved  toward  the  door. 

She  stopped  a  minute  peering  into  the  front  win- 
dow. Then  she  came  in  with  her  free  striding  step. 

"I  want  that  belt  in  the  window,"  she  said  care- 
lessly. 

Aaron  reached  for  it. 

"Anything  more?"  He  was  doing  it  up  with  effi- 
cient fingers. 

She  hung  over  the  show-case  absorbed  in  muslins 
and  ribbons  and  lace. 

214 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  215 

"I'll  have  that  one."  She  pointed  to  a  delicate 
piece  of  neckwear.  It  was  the  most  expensive  thing 
in  the  case — a  shimmering  cobweb  lightness. 

Aaron  took  it  out  gingerly.    He  did  it  up. 

"Anything  more?  Nice  veils,"  he  nodded. 
"Fifty  cents  and  a  dollar !" 

She  shook  her  head.  A  burst  of  laughter  came  to 
them  from  the  back-room.  The  girl  wheeled — 

"What's  in  there?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"Just  girls,"  said  Aaron.  He  handed  over  the 
parcels—  "Nine-fifty,  please."  He  wondered  a  lit- 
tle whether  she  had  it.  He  knew  now  who  she  was. 
He  remembered — old  Grundiles7  girl.  The  old  man 
died  last  year  and  left  the  farm  to  her.  She  prob- 
ably had  money  enough — if  she  wanted  to  spend  it. 

He  watched  her  while  she  opened  her  shabby  purse 
and  counted  out  the  money.  There  was  a  large  roll 
of  bills  left  he  noted  as  she  closed  the  purse  and 
tucked  it  in  the  bosom  of  her  gown.  She  turned  her 
head  again  to  the  door. 

' '  They  got— sell— in  there  ?  "    She  pointed. 

"Some  dresses,"  said  Aaron  grudgingly.  He  felt 
an  uneasy  sense  of  competition  with  the  back-room. 

"I  go  in !"  She  moved  to  the  door.  He  had  no 
tune  to  intervene  or  to  consider  whether  Isabel 
would  want  a  strange  girl  in  there.  Anyway  it  was 
none  of  his  business. 

She  opened  the  door  and  stood  in  it,  tall  and  com- 
manding, staring  in. 

A  hush  fell  on  the  laughter.  They  gazed  at  the 
tall  straight  figure  and  the  dark  slumbrous  eyes  and 


216  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

mobile  face.  Their  glances  travelled  down  the  rough 
dress  to  her  clumsy  shoes. 

She  seemed  not  to  see  the  stares  and  the  parted 
lips.  She  pushed  past  the  silence  and  walked  straight 
to  the  pole  of  hanging  dresses.  She  pointed  unerr- 
ingly. 

"That!  "she  said. 

The  room  stirred  subtly  and  shook  its  shoulders 
quiveringly  and  looked  at  Isabel.  She  came  forward. 
She  reached  up  to  the  dress  and  took  it  down. 

' '  How  much  ? ' '  said  the  girl  decisively.    ' '  I  take. ' ' 

Isabel  breathed  a  sigh.  Then  she  glanced  at  the 
firm  straight  shoulders  and  the  long  flowing  lines  of 
the  girl's  figure.  Even  under  the  coarse  cloth  the 
lines  revealed  themselves  subtly. 

"It  is  twenty-five  dollars,"  said  Isabel. 

"I  take !"    The  girl  opened  her  purse. 

In  silence  Isabel  drew  out  a  box  and  laid  the  dress 
in  it.  She  smoothed  it,  touching  it  here  and  there 
with  quick  gentle  fingers.  She  drew  up  the  tissue 
paper  about  the  shining  folds  and  put  on  the  cover 
of  the  box. 

The  girl  watched  her  sombrely.  There  was  not 
a  sound  hi  the  room.  It  centred  hi  the  box  and  the 
suddenly-snatched  dress — as  if  Fate  entered,  inex- 
orable and  grim,  despoiling  the  hive. 

The  girl  paid  the  money  silently  into  Isabel's 
hand.  She  took  up  the  box  and  strode  from  the 
room. 

The  hive  stirred  and  shook  tentatively.  Wings 
rose  in  a  whirring  hum.  They  circled  about  Isabel 
and  darted  swiftly. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  217 

"How  mean  of  her!"  ...  "I  wanted  that  one 
myself !"  .  .  .  "Why  did  you  let  her?" 

"I  was  just  going  to  try  that  one  on — !"  It  was 
a  protesting  wail  from  Millie  Matoon. 

Isabel  turned  with  a  little  swift  gesture  of  re- 
proof  

"But  you  couldn't  wear  it,  Millie.  It  wasn't 
your  style!  See —  Here — this  one  is  much  more 
like  you ! "  She  whirled  the  blue-and-white  lightness 
from  the  pole  and  swirled  it  before  Millie's  doubting 
gaze  and  let  it  fall  in  graceful  folds. 

"  Oh !—     I  hadn't  seen  that  one ! "  breathed  Millie. 

"Try  it  on!"  said  a  voice.  "Here — let  me  un- 
hook you!" 

They  were  in  all  stages  of  dress  and  undress  and 
half -dress,  fluttering  to  the  mirror  and  preening  and 
fluttering  back  to  Isabel  for  advice  and  pins.  They 
circled  about  and  darted  off  and  came  back  to  her. 
And  she  adjusted  necks  and  snipped  seams  and 
turned  back  edges.  She  patted  them  in  place  and 
let  out  folds  and  took  them  in  and  made  new  ones. 

Her  face  wore  a  rapt  look.  Her  fingers  flew  like 
swift  transforming  eyes. 

Behind  the  screen  little  Miss  Sparks  sewed  and 
stitched  and  snipped,  inarticulate  with  pins.  Only 
by  waving  movements  of  her  hands  did  she  command 
them  to  advance  or  retreat — or  dismissed  them  with 
satisfied  nod. 

And  through  the  stir  and  bustle  ran  a  curious  unity 
— an  intimacy  that  seemed  seeking  for  each  girl  the 
dress  that  was  best  suited  and  belonged  to  her  by 
right.  .  .  .  That  Isabel  guided  the  changing  move- 


2i8  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

ment  was  hardly  evident.  She  herself  could  not 
have  told  what  she  wished  or  whether  she  was  help- 
ing to  bring  it  about. 

She  had  gone  over  the  dresses  before  the  girls 
came,  assigning  each  one  in  her  mind  to  some  par- 
ticular girl.  But  now  that  they  were  here,  turning 
to  each  other — laughing,  talking,  demanding,  com- 
paring— she  saw  them  with  new  and  bewildered  eyes. 
They  seemed  to  change  subtly  as  she  watched  them. 
But  through  all  the  flutter  and  movement  she  knew 
they  turned  unerringly  to  her  for  the  final  decision. 

She  felt  queer  happy  thrills,  moving  among  them. 
Not  even  the  dancing  had  made  her  happy — like 
this!  .  .  .  They  seemed  to  press  on  her.  They 
needed  her.  And  then  they  moved  away  from  her 
light  and  buoyant  and  strong.  .  .  .  She  watched 
them  mistily.  She  wanted  to  gather  them  all  into 
her  arms — all  the  pretty  dresses  in  the  back-room 
and  the  eager  lighted-up  faces — and  cry  a  little  be- 
cause she  was  so  happy. 

"There!"  She  stood  back,  pushing  them  off 
and  gazing 

"That's  all  now!" 

A  sigh  went  up.    Somebody  laughed. 

"There  are  two  left!" 

They  motioned  to  the  dresses  hanging  disconsolate 
from  the  pole — two  that  nobody  wanted. 

"And  Alice  Mann  hasn't  any !  Try  that  green  one 
on,  Alice ! "  But  Isabel  intervened. 

"I  think  the  Greek  girl  took  Alice's,"  she  said. 
They  gazed  sympathetically  at  Alice  Mann. 

"You  hadn't  ought  to  'a'  let  her!" 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  21$ 

"My!  But  she  was  quick — 'I  take!' —  Just 
that — and  out  she  goes!"  They  laughed. 

"I'm  going  to  order  another  for  Alice."  Isabel 
slipped  an  arm  about  the  girl's  waist. 

Some  one  on  the  other  side  slipped  an  arm  about 
Isabel.  The  circle  of  entwining  arms  grew  and  closed 
in  with  little  curtsying  dancing  steps  and  alluring 
looks  that  sought  each  other  smiling.  They  broke 
into  soft  humming.  It  was  not  a  song  they  knew 
and  remembered  that  they  hummed  gently  moving 
back  and  forth.  No  one  led  the  singing.  It  seemed 
to  come  of  itself  out  of  the  whole  circle  at  once — ris- 
ing and  falling  as  the  circle  advanced  or  drew  back 
in  the  happy  swaying  dance. 

Miss  Sparks  from  behind  her  screen  came  out  and 
looked  on.  The  room  was  filled  with  the  swaying 
lightness.  If  the  exorcised  spirits  of  Andrew  Crane 
and  Roger  Jepson  could  have  looked  down  they 
would  have  felt  lonely — and  a  little  afraid  perhaps 
of  the  weaving  singing  circle.  .  .  .  Delicate,  light 
as  air — made  up  of  girls'  delight.  ...  A  wind- 
blown seed  may  one  day  cleave  the  rock  asunder. 
An  evanescent  force  set  free  lifts  a  world  and  sends 
it  singing  and  swinging  through  space  to  the  new 
quick  life.  .  .  . 

A  knock  sounded  on  the  door.  The  circle  dis- 
solved. 

The  girls  moved  lightly.  They  looked  toward  the 
door  askance. 

Isabel  opened  it. 

Aaron  Merton  stood  there.    He  half  peered  in. 

"You  'most  through?"  he  asked.     "There's  a 


220  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

lot  of  things  out  here  to  sell.    They  want  to  see  'em 
before  they  go  home,  don't  they?" 

The  girls  flocked  out  in  their  lightness.  The 
bright  dresses  filled  the  dingy  store.  They  chattered 
and  bought  and  stripped  the  cases.  .  .  .  They 
knew  there  was  money  in  the  bank  in  Camden— 
Even  if  they  spent  all  they  had  in  their  purses 
to-day  there  was  money  in  the  bank.  .  .  .  They 
had  not  known  there  were  things  like  this  for  them. 
This  was  what  money  was  for!  They  chattered 
and  bought. 

Aaron  Merton  did  up  parcels  in  swift  haste. 

When  the  last  one  was  tied  up  and  the  new  dresses 
had  been  taken  off  and  placed  carefully  in  the  boxes 
and  each  girl  had  departed  carrying  the  cherished 
box  in  her  hand — Aaron  Merton  in  the  deserted  store 
looked  across  to  Isabel. 

"A  pretty  good  day's  business,"  he  said  compla- 
cently. He  paused  and  wiped  his  forehead. 

"That's  the  way  to  do  business — have  sales — not 
potter  along ! " 

She  nodded.  Her  lip  trembled.  She  looked  at  the 
show-cases  with  their  scattered  trifles.  Aaron  was 
looking  thoughtfully  at  the  door  of  the  back-room. 

Little  Miss  Sparks  was  coming  out.  She  said 
good-night  hurriedly  as  she  passed  him.  Aaron 
went  toward  the  back-room.  He  peered  uncertainly 
into  the  dimness.  Two  shapes  depended  from  the 
poles. 

"Well — I  swan!"  He  glanced  back  to  Isabel  by 
the  counter 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  221 

"Only  two  left !"  he  said  solemnly. 

Her  face  in  the  dusk  was  a  little  pale. 

"Only  two,"  she  assented  quietly. 

"I'll  bet  we  could  sell  those  two — if  we  advertised 
Jem !"  The  idea  grew  in  his  face  and  illumined  it — • 
"You  saw  that  Greek — how  she  nabbed  things  up! 
You  just  let  me  take  those  dresses  and  show  'em  to 
some  Greek  or  Pole!"  He  expanded  with  it.  He 
snapped  his  fingers. 

"No!"  she  said  quickly.  "They're  going  back 
to-night." 

He  stared.  "Don't  you  want  to  sell  dresses? 
Isn't  that  what  you  got  'em  for — what  we've  had 
all  this  fuss  for — to  sell  dresses?  I  tell  you  some 
Polander'd  snatch  'em  up  quick ! " 

"I  don't  want  it !"  she  said. 

Her  glance  swept  the  empty  store.  His  own  fol- 
lowed it  slowly. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked  testily. 

"I  don't  know — what  I  want."  She  spoke  grop- 
ingly. She  was  tired. 

Then  she  turned  to  him  swiftly  with  something 
shining  in  her  eyes 

"Isn't  it  splendid,  father!  We  didn't  think  we 
could  do  it,  did  we?" 

"Well — ?"  He  was  loath  to  admit  too  much 
either  way —  "After  we  sold  that  collar  last  night 
to  that  Braithwaite  woman,  I  said  to  myself  maybe 
we'll  do  pretty  well  with  'em !" 

"I'm  so  glad!"  She  was  suddenly  happy.  The 
tired  look  had  left  her  face. 


222  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"I'll  do  up  the  dresses  right  now  and  you  can  carry 
them  to  the  express  office  on  the  way  home. 
They'll  go  out  to-night  and  be  there  Monday  morn- 
ing." 

"All  right,"  he  assented.  "But  hurry  up  with 
'em.  It's  supper-time." 

She  did  them  up  swiftly.  Aaron  stopped  at  the 
express  office  as  they  went  by.  She  walked  on  slowly 
waiting  for  him  to  overtake  her. 

The  expressman  filled  in  the  receipt  and  held  his 
pencil 

"What  value?"  he  asked.    Aaron  expanded. 

"Put  it  down  seventy-five,"  he  said  carelessly. 

"You're  doing  a  big  business  up  to  your  place," 
said  the  man  jotting  it  down. 

"Yes,"  said  Aaron.  "  We're  branching  out  a  little. 
Wake  you  up  some  if  we  keep  on,  won't  it  ?  Make 
lively  business  for  express ! "  He  chuckled. 

"You  can't  make  things  too  lively  for  me!"  said 
the  man.  "I  like  a  town  with  some  hum  to  it  my- 
self— Darned  dead  hole  this  is ! "  Aaron  stared. 

"Good-night,"  he  said  curtly. 

He  hurried  on  and  overtook  Isabel.  He  was 
breathing  a  little  fast 

"I  believe  I'll  put  in  some  men's  things  next  week," 
he  said  carelessly.  "We  might  do  a  little  trade  in 
'em." 

"It's  a  good  idea!"  said  Isabel.  "Shall  I  order 
them  to-night?" 

"Yes — you  might,"  assented  Aaron.  "No  harm 
in  seeing  what  we  can  do." 


xxxin 

THE  next  week  a  letter  came  from  Dart  and 
Company  asking  Miss  Merton  to  call  at  their  store 
the  next  time  she  happened  to  be  in  Boston.  A  card 
was  enclosed  for  presentation.  It  bore  the  name  of 
James  Murphy. 

She  replied  with  a  new  order  for  goods  and  the 
explanation  that  she  had  never  been  in  Boston 
and  was  not  likely  to  go  there  except  on  special 
business. 

James  Murphy  read  the  letter  with  approval. 
He  instructed  his  stenographer —  "Make  it  a 
date.  Tell  her  to  come  down  at  our  expense." 

The  reply  came  promptly.  She  was  very  sorry 
she  was  not  free  to  be  away  on  the  date  mentioned. 
She  enclosed  several  samples  of  silk  from  the  mill- 
room  asking  for  neckties  to  match  the  samples— 
also  any  accessories  for  women's  wear  that  harmon- 
ized with  these  colors. 

The  order  included  dancing  slippers  and  pumps. 
Isabel  had  been  studying  feet,  jotting  down  dimen- 
sions. She  wrote  the  order  with  a  vision  of  feet 
dancing  in  light  accord,  blue  socks  and  mauve  and 
gray  keeping  time  to  the  music — and  neckties  to 
match. 

She  finished  the  order  happily  and  signed  it,  re- 
maining theirs  very  truly. 

223 


224  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

This  was  John  Berwick's  customary  way  of  remain- 
ing. It  seemed  to  Isabel  satisfactory. 

James  Murphy  filed  the  letter  and  made  a  note. 
He  might  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  Hanover  some- 
time. He  should  certainly  stop  off  and  see  this 
young  woman  who  was  too  busy  to  attend  to  any- 
thing but  business. 

The  order  for  neckties  was  duly  filled.  Goods  to 
match  the  samples  of  silk  were  selected  and  des- 
patched. 

They  created  a  stir  when  they  arrived  in  Han- 
over. 

Young  men  hovered  morning  and  evening  about 
the  window  of  Aaron  Merton's  store.  Then  they 
went  in  and  bought.  .  .  .  Seconds  in  socks  were  in 
demand.  There  was  an  anxious  season  of  matching 
up.  Young  men  hurried  from  the  mill  at  the  clos- 
ing whistle  with  a  pair  of  seconds  tucked  under  one 
arm  or  protruding  from  a  side  pocket — on  the  run 
to  catch  daylight  to  match  colors. 

"You've  got  to  get  a  move  on  if  you  live  in 
this  town!"  they  said  to  Aaron  over  the  counter  as 
he  fussed  and  laid  out  his  stock  and  advised  them 
in  nice  discrimination  of  color. 

In  time  there  were  heavy  curtains  at  the  windows 
of  the  back-room  and  a  lamp  in  readiness — for  even- 
ing colors. 

But  this  was  later,  much  later — when  Hanover  had 
its  new  hall  and  a  high-priced  victrola  and  a  piano- 
owned  by  the  young  people  of  the  town — and  when 
the  old  routine  of  eating  supper,  hanging  about  the 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  225 

streets  awhile  or  going  to  the  movies  and  to  bed, 
had  given  way  to  the  new  social  life  of  the  town.  .  .  . 
dancing,  singing,  acting  in  amateur  plays,  wrestling, 
high- jumping  and  vaulting — free  play  for  mind  and 
body  and  the  new  quickened  sense  of  oneness  that 
came  to  them.  .  .  .  Alone  they  had  moved  aim- 
lessly, half-dead,  it  seemed  to  them  now  looking 
back.  Together  they  were  caught  up  into  swift- 
pulsing  life.  And  the  new  pulse  beat  through  them 
all — young  and  old,  the  stupid  and  the  clever,  good 
and  bad,  men,  women,  and  children — no  one 
seemed  too  humble  or  too  insignificant  to  be  included 
when  Hanover  came  alive.  .  .  .  But  this  was  far 
ahead,  hidden  in  the  veiling  mists  of  the  future,  when 
Isabel  wrote  her  order  to  Dart  and  Company  asking 
for  neckties  to  match  samples  of  waste  silk. 

The  morning  the  neckties  arrived  she  found  Aaron 
filling  a  large  basket  from  the  shelves  behind  the 
counter.  His  countenance  was  inscrutable. 

"I'm  dumping  out  these  drugs,"  he  explained 
casually.  "So  much  stuff  lying  round — you  can't 
hear  yourself  think ! " 

The  mortar  and  pestle  still  remained  on  the  dingy 
sign  outside  the  door.  But  Merton's  drug-store 
passed  out  of  existence. 

Aaron,  who  had  lounged  and  gossiped  and  fuddled 
himself  with  drink  because  he  was  "bored  to  death," 
took  hold  of  the  business  with  a  zest  that  bewildered 
Isabel  watching  him.  ...  To  her  the  selling  of 
the  dresses  and  neckties  was  incidental,  a  means  to 
an  end  that  glimmered  always  faintly  ahead  and 


226  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

lured  her  on.  To  Aaron  it  seemed  to  become  a  kind 
of  religious  rite. 

She  wanted  the  girls  to  have  pretty  clothes  be- 
cause the  clothes  made  them  happy.  They  were 
more  alive  in  them — more  themselves.  And  the 
more  they  wore  them,  the  more  alive  they  became 
— as  if  something  inside  them  were  asleep  and  must 
be  touched  from  without  to  wake  it.  ...  She  did 
not  think  these  things  or  know  they  were  in  her 
mind.  She  only  went  on  obeying  the  force  that 
compelled  her.  She  no  longer  shrank  from  it.  She 
was  learning  to  obey.  .  .  .  But  sometimes  when 
she  saw  what  this  force  that  was  guiding  her,  evoked 
— she  held  her  breath  before  it. 

Aaron  regarded  the  selling  of  the  neckties  as  an 
end  in  itself.  To  buy  goods  and  arrange  them  at- 
tractively in  the  case,  to  sell  them  next  day  and  buy 
more — this  seemed  to  fill  him  with  competent  joy. 
After  the  first  few  tunes  Isabel  did  not  concern  her- 
self with  the  orders.  Aaron  took  entire  charge  of 
the  store. 

He  was  perhaps  a  little  jealous  of  encroachment 
on  his  power.  He  seemed  to  wake  in  the  morn- 
ing with  new  devices  for  trade  humming  in  his 
head  and  he  went  to  bed  to  dreams  of  business 
achieved. 

The  outlying  fringe  of  Greeks  and  Poles  had 
from  the  first  attracted  him.  He  had  never  quite 
accepted  the  return  of  the  two  dresses  to  Dart  and 
Company.  He  referred  to  it  now  and  then  re- 
gretfully  


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  227 

"We  could  V  sold  'em  easy !"  he  would  recall  to 
her. 

"Yes.  ...    I  know  we  could." 

"Well— why  didn't  you?" 

"I've  told  you — I  don't  know.  It  wasn't  what  I 
was  after,  not  then." 

"Well,  it's  what  I'm  after!  And  I'm  getting 
it!  There's  a  good  deal  of  money  made  on  those 
farms!" 

The  foreigners  flocked  to  his  store — at  first  the 
girls  and  women,  and  then  the  men.  And  he  stocked 
his  shelves  to  tempt  them  in. 

There  had  always  been  a  cleavage  in  Hanover  be- 
tween the  mill-hands  and  the  farms.  Some  of  the 
men  employed  in  the  works  were  foreigners,  but  none 
of  the  girls.  John  Berwick  in  the  early  days  had 
made  one  or  two  experiments — putting  in  a  Greek  or 
Polish  girl  when  they  were  short  of  hands.  But  it 
always  encountered  opposition.  .  .  .  The  girls  of 
the  best  families  in  Hanover  were  willing  to  work  in 
the  mill.  There  was  no  stigma  attached  to  it  so 
long  as  they  were  all  together  and  could  keep  to  them- 
selves. They  liked  the  work.  .  .  .  But  with  the 
coming  of  a  foreign  girl  the  spirit  of  disturbance 
entered  the  works.  They  did  not  strike.  They  ap- 
parently took  no  notice  of  the  new-comer.  But 
accidents  occurred  and  delays.  All  through  the  mill 
— even  in  the  men's  department,  there  was  trouble. 
.  .  .  Not  till  the  alien  element  was  removed  did 
threads  cease  to  snarl  and  patterns  go  wrong. 

John  Berwick  decided  the  game  was  not  worth  the 


228  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

candle  as  a  matter  of  profit  and  loss.  He  could  get 
the  foreigners  cheaper,  but  he  could  not  keep  them 
cheaper. 

So  the  Greeks  and  Poles  remained  on  the  fringe 
of  Hanover.  They  furnished  vegetables,  eggs  and 
meat  to  the  town.  They  took  their  money  in  ex- 
change and  returned  with  it  to  the  farms.  The 
money  was  either  hoarded  or  invested  in  new  tools 
and  more  land.  They  lived  on  incredibly  little. 

Until  Aaron  Merton's  store  threw  temptation  in 
their  way,  they  had  lived  hard-working,  thrifty, 
starved  lives.  .  .  .  Perhaps  old  Grundiles'  daughter 
in  her  finery  touched  the  slumbering  spring  of  beauty 
and  desire  in  them. 

They  hovered  about  Aaron's  window  as  flies  round 
a  honey-pot.  And  Aaron's  store  of  honey  was  in- 
exhaustible. 

Now  and  then  the  young  girls  wore  their  new 
finery  into  town.  But  there  was  no  communication 
between  them  and  the  town-girls. 

Once  or  twice  Isabel  saw  the  dark  glancing  faces 
peering  in  the  engine-house  door  at  the  dancers  and 
she  turned  away  thoughtful. 

Then  one  evening  Panyiota  Grundiles  approached 
the  door  boldly.  She  did  not  come  as  a  suppliant 
for  favors. 

They  were  charging  a  small  admission  fee,  saving 
the  money  for  the  new  hall  already  planned.  And 
Panyiota  laid  her  dime  on  the  counter  and  passed 
in.  She  was  wearing  the  dress  bought  at  Merton's 
store.  Her  head  was  held  high.  Her  glance  swept 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  229 

the  room — as  if  a  queen  from  a  foreign  realm  en- 
tered and  gazed  at  them. 

Groups  fell  back  and  stared.  The  hive  buzzed— 
angry  whirring  sounded  dimly.  .  .  .  The  girl  re- 
garded them  unmoved.  She  stationed  herself  with 
her  back  to  the  wall  and  from  her  height  she 
overlooked  them  carelessly. 

One  or  two  couples  took  the  floor.  Silk  stockings 
and  neckties  to  match  moved  to  the  music — but 
languidly  and  without  interest,  a  little  self-con- 
sciously. .  .  .  The  room  centred  in  the  tall  flashing 
figure,  upright  against  the  wall — a  menace  to  the  hive ! 

Then  Isabel  crossed  swiftly.  She  did  not  take 
time  to  think.  She  dared  not  think.  She  held  out 
her  hands  to  the  girl 

"Would  you  like  to  dance?"  she  asked. 

The  girl  dropped  an  eye  to  her.  For  a  minute 
it  pierced  her  boldly.  Then  it  faltered.  The 
haughtiness  in  the  face  softened  and  drew  back. 

"I  like  it,"  she  said  simply.  "I  no  dance."  Her 
voice  was  musical  and  rich.  The  glow  in  her  face 
pulsed  with  life.  The  face  grew  a  little  wistful  it 
seemed  to  Isabel  watching  it. 

"Come!"  She  held  out  her  hands  and  the  girl 
moved  toward  her,  drawn  by  an  unseen  force. 

The  two  figures  were  nearly  of  a  height.  They 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room — one  dark  and  for- 
bidding, the  other  with  the  curious  inner  light  that 
seemed  to  radiate  and  surround  her. 

From  the  edges  of  the  room  faces  gazed  at  them 
hostilely. 


XXXIV 

THE  next  night  they  held  a  meeting  to  thresh  it 
out.  The  dance  was  given  up.  It  was  tacitly  under- 
stood there  would  be  no  more  dances  till  the  question 
was  decided.  .  .  .  No  one  was  willing  to  admit  the 
Greek  girl,  but  no  one  saw  a  way  to  make  the  dances 
private. 

Isabel  did  not  take  part  in  the  discussion.  She  sat 
a  little  to  one  side,  her  clear  eyes  watching  the  con- 
flict. 

Sometimes  they  turned  a  little  toward  her. 
Then  they  looked  quickly  away.  She  had  betrayed 
them !  .  .  .  The  fierce  instinct  of  exclusion  was 
fighting  for  its  life.  If  these  barbarians,  these  Greeks 
and  Polanders  were  let  in,  they  would  destroy  all 
that  tradition  had  established  and  held  sacred. 
They  would  overrun  and  change  the  life  of  the  town. 
Their  young  men  and  maidens  would  mingle  with 
those  of  New  England  blood.  They  would  inter- 
marry. Racial  characteristics  would  be  swept  away 
— annihilation  follow.  .  .  . 

They  did  not  know  that  these  thoughts  were  be- 
hind them,  in  their  blood  and  bones,  merging  in  the 
discussion,  urging  them  on — to  cruelty  if  need  be. 
They  were  only  firmly  intent  on  excluding  Panyiota 
Grundiles.  The  Greeks  and  Poles  must  be  kept  out 
of  the  dances  in  the  old  engine-house. 

A  week  went  by  without  solution. 

230 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  231 

"It  seems  to  me  I  just  must  dance!"  Millie 
Matoon  took  a  few  flitting  steps.  They  were  stand- 
ing by  the  fence  at  noon-time.  The  warm  sun  shone 
down  on  them.  A  little  breeze  blew  across  by  the 
fence. 

"Can't  we  have  a  dance,  Isabel — please!"  said 
Millie.  She  put  a  coaxing  arm  around  her  and 
hugged  her. 

"Why,  of  course!"  laughed  Isabel.  "Who's 
hindering  you  ?  " 

"To-night?" 

"Why  not?" 

Millie  hugged  her  again.  She  danced  a  few  steps. 
She  drew  back  on  a  thought 

"Will  you  come?"  she  asked  severely.  Isabel 
shook  her  head. 

"Can't." 

Millie's  face  fell.  "Just  because  of  that  Panyiota- 
girl!"  she  said  vengefully.  "You're  mad  because 
we  won't  let  her  in !" 

"No."  Isabel  laid  a  hand  on  her  arm.  "It  isn't 
Panyiota.  It's  more  than  Pannie — bigger.  .  .  . 
We've  got  to  decide  sometime.  We  might  as  well 
have  it  out — now  we've  begun." 

"We  won't  ever  decide,"  said  Millie  plaintively. 
"Nobody'llgivein!" 

"Perhaps  we  won't  have  to  give  in,"  said  Isabel 
smiling.  "Perhaps  some  one  will  find  a  way  out!" 

That  night  they  held  another  meeting. 

There  were  recriminations,  threats  of  withdrawal 
if  something  were  not  done  to  bar  out  the  foreigners. 


232  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

They  must  agree  on  some  policy  of  exclusion  and 
agree  to  stand  by  each  other  in  carrying  it  out. 

And  throughout  all  the  discussion  one  thought 
was  vividly  present  to  them.  No  one  mentioned  it 
—but  it  was  the  loudest  thing  said.  ...  If  Isabel 
was  going  to  be  silly  and  dance  with  the  Greeks  and 
Poles — as  if  she  had  known  them  all  her  life — there 
was  no  use  trying  to  keep  them  out  or  do  anything 
about  it ! 

They  saw  themselves  swept  in  the  wake  of  her 
iconoclasm.  They  dreaded  and  resented  it.  ... 
But  back  of  the  dread  and  resentment  something 
deeper  stirred  and  troubled  them — the  knowledge  of 
American  youth  that  all  men  are  born  free  and 
equal.  They  knew  it  and  chafed  under  it. 

They  held  another  meeting.  John  Sampson  got 
up. 

"Nobody  knows  what  Bel  Merton  thinks.  She 
hasn't  said  anything ! " 

He  sat  down.  The  meeting  was  relieved — John 
had  brought  things  to  a  focus. 

"Go  on,  Bel!" 

"Tell  us  what  you  think !" 

She  shook  her  head.  But  they  faced  her,  deter- 
mined. Let  her  have  this  thing  out  if  she  wanted  to ! 

She  got  up  slowly. 

"I  don't  believe  I  need  to  say  anything.  You  all 
know  what  I  did.  I  danced  with  Pannie." 

"That's  the  whole  row!"  muttered  some  one. 

Bel  nodded.  "Yes— that's  the  whole  row."  She 
said  it  quietly.  She  stood  a  minute. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  233 

"Why  don't  you  want  me  to  dance  with  her?" 

"It's  the  whole  gang!"  they  said  swiftly.  "The 
hall  isn't  big  enough."  .  .  .  "They'd  overrun  the 
place."  .  .  .  "You  couldn't  keep  'em  out — if  you 
let  one  hi ! " 

"  Smells ! "  said  a  voice  faintly.  They  all  laughed, 
a  little  ashamed. 

Isabel  waited  for  it  to  subside.  It  had  cleared  the 
air. 

"No,"  she  said  firmly.  "You're  wrong.  They 
won't  crowd  us  out.  They  may  not  even  come. 
They  dislike  us  as  much  as  we  do  them." 

They  stared  with  incredulous  lifted  shoulders. 

"It's  true!"  she  returned.  "They  won't  force 
themselves.  .  .  .  We  may  have  to  coax  them  hi." 
She  smiled. 

Ironic  groans  met  it. 

"No.  You're  wrong!"  she  said  again  quietly. 
"Try  it  and  see!" 

They  were  silent,  unconvinced. 

"Did  they  ever  try  to  crowd  in?"  she  asked. 

"Look  at  that  Panyiota  Grundiles  the  other  night 
— couldn't  keep  her  out !  Nobody  could !" 

"Yes,  Pannie  is  different,"  admitted  Isabel. 
She  stood  looking  down,  thoughts  flitting  hi  her 
face.  "Pannie  is — different,"  she  said  slowly. 
"  She's  big  and — and — seeking.  She  had  to  come ! 
Couldn't  you  see  it — the  way  she  looked  at  us? 
Pannie's  one  of  those  people  that  don't  go  with  the 
crowd —  "She's  .  .  . 

She  paused,  searching  a  word.  ..."  She's  a  kind 


234  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

of  herald,  I  guess ! "  She  said  it  slowly  and  wistfully 
and  looked  at  them. 

"She's  a  hussy!"  muttered  Herbert  Matoon. 

"No !"  Isabel  turned  sharply.  "You've  no  right 
to  say  that.  I've  danced  with  her  and  I  know! 
You've  no  right  to  say  it !" 

"Have  you?"  she  insisted.  She  faced  him 
steadily,  as  a  man  might. 

There  was  quick  silence  in  the  room 

"No."    He  flushed  a  clear  red. 

"I  take  that  back!"    He  said  slowly. 

"All  right !"  she  nodded.    She  turned  to  them. 

"Pannie  isn't  like  the  rest  of  us.  She  wants 
to  see  new  things — know  about  them.  There  isn't 
anything  hi  the  world  she  wouldn't  do — if  she 
wanted  to — not  anything!"  she  repeated  signifi- 
cantly. 

The  room  was  hushed 

"  If  she  does  come  to  us  we've  got  to  take  good  care 
of  her — "  she  went  on  quietly.  "Not  let  any  harm 
come  to  her.  We  can't  have  her  go  back  to  her  own 
people  with  anything  wrong  done." 

The  girls  stirred  subtly.  Something  had  been 
said  that  they  responded  to.  They  drew  a  little 
together. 

The  room  was  silent  a  minute.  There  had  never 
been  plain  speaking  hi  Hanover.  It  was  not  the 
fashion,  but  it  did  not  occur  to  them  that  Isabel  had 
said  anything  unusual.  They  held  it  a  moment 
thoughtfully. 

Frank  Deane  in  the  back  of  the  room  stood  up, 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  235 

his  hands  on  the  back  of  the  chair  in  front  of  him. 
If  he  had  been  his  own  grandfather  he  would  have 
stood  in  much  the  same  position  in  the  New  England 
prayer-meeting  and  testified  to  the  glory  of  God,  or 
his  own  unworthiness. 

"  There  won't  any  harm  come  to  Pannie — not  from 
this  crowd—  "  he  said  slowly,  "not  any  more  than  if 
she  was  one  of  our  sisters !  .  .  .  If  she  comes  we'll 
treat  her  square!"  He  paused,  and  the  room 
stirred  assent.  .  .  . 

"But  that's  the  whole  question — !"  he  threw  out. 

"Is  she  going  to  come?—  Are  we  going  to  let 
her  come — and  all  the  rest  of  'em?"  he  added  sig- 
nificantly. "That's  what  we're  talking  about — and 
we  ought  to  keep  to  the  question." 

Isabel  nodded  approval. 

"Yes.  That's  the  question,"  she  said.  Then  she 
stood  a  minute. 

"  I'd  thought  of  a  way  we  might  do " 

A  breath  of  relief  stole  through  the  room.  They 
relaxed.  They  settled  back  a  little  more  comforta- 
bly. The  aggressiveness  waited  on  her  words. 

"It  doesn't  settle  it,  one  way — and  another  way  it 
does,"  she  went  on  slowly. 

"What  we're  all  afraid  of  isn't  anything  that  has 
happened  or  is  going  to  happen,  right  off.  It's 
something  we  don't  even  know  ever  will  happen. 
Only — we'fe  afraid  of  it.  ...  We're  afraid  we're 
going  to  be  afraid !" 

Somebody  chuckled.  , 

A  laugh  went  through  the  room. 


236  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Why  not  just  go  along  the  way  we  are  now,  the 
way  we've  been  going — and  see  if  anything  happens ! 
...  If  anything  does  happen — anything  unpleasant 
— we  can  call  a  meeting  any  time,  any  one  can  call  it 
and  do  something  about  it.  ...  Then  we'll  know 
what  we're  afraid  of — not  just  a  bogy  in  the  dark." 
She  sat  down. 

There  was  no  more  discussion.  They  laughed  and 
talked  a  little  and  broke  up  into  groups.  Some  one 
started  the  victrola  and  they  danced  a  while.  Then 
they  put  out  the  lights  and  went  home. 

The  big  engine  doors  stood  open.  Any  one  who 
paid  his  dime  could  come  in  and  dance. 

But  no  one  came — except  Panyiota. 

They  danced  with  her  as  with  the  others,  showing 
no  difference  of  feeling.  .  .  .  They  were  not  even 
patronizingly  kind  to  her.  She  was  a  beautiful 
dancer  and  they  liked  to  dance  with  her.  They  al- 
most forgot  she  did  not  belong  there. 

After  a  time  she  brought  another  girl — but  no 
more. 

Then  one  night  a  young  man  appeared,  a  Pole. 
He  was  brought  in  by  Frank  Deane  who  saw  him 
near  the  door  and  asked  him  in.  He  stood  by  the 
victrola,  watching  the  dance  with  dark  shining  eyes. 
.  .  .  Frank  Deane  introduced  him  to  his  sister  and 
she  introduced  him  to  another  girl. 

There  were  finally  several  dark  faces  among  the 
dancers  on  the  floor  and  these  foreigners  danced  with 
the  grace  and  abandon  of  the  older  simpler  nations. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  237 

They  made  a  grateful  element  in  the  artificial  stac- 
cato movement  of  the  modern  dance. 

No  one  was  afraid  of  them. 

They  came  in  and  were  effaced.  They  blended 
into  the  whole. 

No  one  called  a  meeting  to  crowd  them  out. 


XXXV 

THERE  were  two  outlanders  who  found  admission 
to  the  old  engine-house  less  easy. 

John  Junior  and  Ellen  Braithwaite  both  ap- 
proached Isabel,  seeking  permission  to  come. 

"I'll  behave!"  said  John  Junior.  She  shook  her 
head. 

"You'd  behave  too  well !" 

"  It  isn't  fan* ! "  he  complained.  "  It's  the  one  good 
time  in  this  town — and  you  shut  me  out— 

"I  don't  shut  you  out!" 

"Well — I  came  to  ask  your  advice — 

"And  I  advise  you  not  to  come — not  yet  awhile." 
She  nodded.  "You  don't  belong!"  she  added. 

"I  do!" 

She  looked  at  him  shrewdly. 

"Then  prove  it !"  she  said.     She  walked  away. 

John  Junior  studied  it.  He  took  to  haunting 
Aaron  Merton's  store.  He  bought  neckties  to 
last  a  lifetime.  His  stock  of  handkerchiefs  accumu- 
lated. Some  of  them  he  bestowed  on  John  Senior. 
Some  he  kept  in  the  drawer  and  some  he  used. 

When  other  young  men  were  in  the  store  he  con- 
sulted them  about  the  color  of  neckties  or  eccentrici- 
ties in  style.  They  fell  to  walking  down  the  street 
with  him  as  they  came  out.  At  noon  he  stopped 
sometimes  for  duck-on-the-rock  or  to  catch  the  ball 
and  throw  it  back  once  or  twice  before  he  went  on. 

238 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  239 

Perhaps  because  he  was  not  trying  to  do  them 
good,  but  was  seeking  desperately  for  something 
they  had  that  he  wanted,  he  made  rapid  progress 
with  them.  They  forgot  to  be  secretive.  .  .  .  He 
had  known  instinctively  that  the  trouble  would  not 
be  with  the  girls,  but  with  the  men.  The  girls  were 
more  complex.  They  would  be  more  hospitable. 
They  could  change  a  fashion  overnight  and  flaunt  it 
proudly  next  morning.  But  the  men  with  their  frock 
coats  and  sack  coats  and  trousers — varied  by  hardly 
a  breadth's  line  from  year  to  year,  with  the  little 
sword-belt  buttons  still  clinging  to  their  backs — 
from  the  days  of  knighthood — the  men  were  the  real 
conservatives,  the  hostile  force  he  must  reckon  with 
if  he  would  gam  admittance  to  the  engine-house. 

He  came  in  carelessly  one  night  with  two  of  them 
whom  he  had  encountered  in  Aaron's  store.  They 
were  all  talking — they  hardly  noticed  that  he  en- 
tered the  engine-house  with  them.  The  dance  was 
in  full  swing.  John  Junior  sought  a  partner — and 
then  another.  The  loneliness  of  Hanover  fell  from 
him.  ...  He  resolved  to  bring  John  Senior.  There 
was  a  fringe  of  older  men  and  women  along  the  wall 
—the  women  knitting  and  talking  as  they  looked  on. 
Some  of  them  danced.  He  knew  John  Senior  would 
dance.  It  would  do  him  good. 

He  saw  Mrs.  Merton  and  went  across  to  speak  to 
her.  She  looked  up  placidly  from  her  knitting. 

"Yes,  Bel  brought  me,"  she  said.  "She  kep'  at 
me  till  I  said  I'd  come.  Yes,  it's  real  pleasant!" 
She  looked  happily  over  her  needles  at  the  dancers. 


240  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

The  needles  kept  time  to  the  music.  There  was  a 
little  flush  in  her  face. 

Isabel  came  up.    He  looked  at  her  victoriously. 

"I'm  here!  "he  said. 

"Yes —    Do  you  want  to  dance  with  me?" 

"  Why,  Bel ! "  said  her  mother  reprovingly.  Isabel 
laughed. 

"Oh,  he  has  to  wait  to  be  asked.  He  knows  his 
place." 

He  placed  an  arm  about  her  and  they  moved 
toward  the  centre  of  the  floor.  Mrs.  Merton's  eyes 
followed  them.  Her  needles  kept  time. 

When  Isabel  came  back  to  her  with  a  little  flushed 
smile,  she  nodded  approvingly. 

"You  two  dance  nice  together!"  Her  knitting 
lay  in  her  lap.  She  was  rubbing1  the  reddened 
knuckles  gently.  There  was  a  little  line  between 
her  eyes.  Isabel  glanced  at  the  hands  sharply. 

"Do  they  hurt  you  again?" 

"Kind  of,"  admitted  her  mother. 

"It's  the  washing!"  said  Isabel  quickly.  "You 
must  not  do  it  again." 

"I  do'no's  it's  the  washing.  I've  always  done 
washing." 

"But  you  haven't  always  been  as  old  as  you  are 
now!" 

"Fm  not  so  awful  old!"  returned  Mrs.  Merton 
dryly. 

"Of  course  not.  Don't  be  silly!"  Isabel  sat 
down  by  her  putting  a  hand  over  the  reddened  ones. 

"  It's  time  they  had  a  rest ! "  she  said.     She  patted 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  241 

them.  Their  eyes  followed  the  dancing  figures  con- 
tentedly. The  music  ran  through  them.  Isabel 
hummed  it  softly. 

"I'm  going  to  see  if  we  can't  get  Mrs.  Atkins." 

"I  asked  her,"  said  her  mother. 

Isabel  turned.     "Will  she?" 

"No.  She's  got  more  promised  a-ready  than  she 
can  do.  Everybody's  after  her." 

"Yes,  I  guess  that's  so.  ...  And  you  can't  get 
a  Greek  or  Pole?" 

Her  mother  shook  her  head.  "Not  for  love  or 
money.  They'd  rather  go  stramming  round  the 
lots— doing  men's  work!"  She  said  it  with  mild 
scorn.  She  had  the  New  Englander's  contempt  for 
any  woman  who  worked  out-of-doors. 

"I  don't  blame  them,"  commented  Isabel. 

"Well !"  It  was  decisive.  "You're  not  going  to 
do  it  any  more.  That's  certain.  Look  at  those 
hands !  No  wonder  they  hurt  you ! " 

Mrs.  Merton  concealed  them  almost  guiltily.  "I 
don't  see  why  they  get  so !"  she  murmured. 

"We'll  put  cold  cream  on  to-night.  Perhaps  that 
will  help.  And  next  week  I'm  going  to  do  the  wash- 
ing myself." 

"But  you  can't !"  protested  her  mother. 

"Of  course  I  can.  I  know  how  to  wash,  as  well 
as  you  do." 

"But  you  don't  have  time — not  mornings.  I've 
never  had  my  clothes  stringing  along  out  after  dark. 
It  seems  shiftless !" 

"Don't  you  worry,  mother.     It  just  means  get- 


242  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

ting  up  a  little  earlier  in  the  morning.     That's 
all." 

John  Junior  came  up  again  and  she  moved  away 
with  him.  Mrs.  Merton  sat  watching  them.  The 
little  line  disappeared  from  between  her  eyes. 
Jimmie  Merton  sliding  across  the  floor,  landed  in 
the  chair  beside  her 

"Hello,  ma!" 

"Where'd  you  come  from?" 

"The  store,"  contentedly.  "Dad's  coming  pretty 
soon.  He  said  I  could  stay  till  he  comes  along." 
His  eyes  followed  the  light-moving  figures. 

"Bel  dances  nice,  don't  she?"  he  said  admiringly. 

"Yes."    The  mother's  eyes  followed  her. 

"I  like  to  watch  'em !"  said  the  boy.  "It  makes 
you  kind  o'  happy ! " 

"Yes,"  she  assented.  "It's  nice  to  see  'em. 
They  dance  real  nice  together." 


XXXVI 

THE  next  Monday  Isabel  got  up  at  four.  At  half- 
past  six  the  washing  was  on  the  line,  and  at  eight 
o'clock  she  was  at  the  office  as  usual. 

"Your  wash  looks  real  good!"  her  mother  said 
as  she  left  the  house.  "They're  nice  and  white !" 

All  the  way  to  the  office  the  little  glow  of  praise 
remained  with  her.  .  .  .  She  was  not  tired.  The 
washing  had  exhilarated  her.  And  hanging  out  the 
clothes  in  the  fresh  half-light  with  the  birds  singing 
and  the  dew  glinting  everywhere  and  the  fresh  earthy 
smells  stealing  up  to  her,  she  had  a  sense  of  wonted- 
ness,  a  nearness  to  life  that  made  her  strangely 
happy.  .  .  .  And  then  suddenly  out  of  the  happi- 
ness a  curious  little  thought  had  come  glowing  to  her. 
She  stared  at  it,  bewildered,  and  gave  a  quick  laugh. 

It  was  absurd ! 

But  it  came  back  and  remained  with  her.  It 
followed  her  into  the  office. 

She  looked  about  the  square  white  room — at  the 
window  with  the  morning  sun  pouring  in,  and  her 
machine  waiting  under  its  cover. 

She  turned  the  thought  in  her  mind — looking  at  it 
more  closely,  still  bewildered,  and  a  little  incredulous. 
.  .  .  Through  the  day  it  followed  her  and  it  came 
between  her  and  John  Senior's  dictation.  She  made 
blunders.  She  asked-  "  What  ?  " 

243 


244  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

John  Senior  glanced  up  sharply.  Bel  was  not  her- 
self this  morning.  ...  He  looked  again.  She  was 
not  ill — that  was  certain.  She  was  the  picture  of 
health. 

Little  vibrant  waves  spread  from  her  pencil. 

John  Senior  did  not  call  them  vibrant  waves,  but 
he  felt  them  hitting  against  him  as  they  danced  in 
the  room. 

His  face  was  thoughtful.  He  liked  B  el  to  be  happy 
— but  not  too  happy!  He  wondered  where  John 
Junior  was. 

He  got  up. 

"There's  enough  to  keep  you  busy  till  I  come 
back."  He  nodded  to  the  notes. 

He  was  uneasy.  He  had  not  kept  an  eye  on 
John  Junior  as  he  meant  to  the  last  few  weeks. 
The  oil-deal  had  absorbed  him — taken  up  his  tune. 
And  he  had  thought  John  Junior  was  busy  with 
poetry.  .  .  .  But  it  wasn't  poetry  that  made 
Isabel  look  like  a  picture  and  get  half  her  words 
wrong.  .  .  .  When  Isabel  asked  over,  it  was  time 
to  wake  up. 

He  opened  John  Junior's  door  without  knocking. 

The  young  man  sitting  at  his  desk  thrust  the 
paper  into  a  drawer  and  turned 

"Oh!    HeUo,  father—    Come  in." 

John  Senior  had  not  been  in  his  son's  room  for 
months.  He  glanced  about  him,  a  little  puzzled — 
What  was  wrong? 

"Where  are  your  curtains  and  other  truck?"  he 
asked. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  245 

"In  the  closet  on  the  floor,"  said  John.  "At  least 
I  put  them  there.  Maybe  somebody's  cleaned  it 
up."  He  smiled  cheerfully. 

"That's  good !"  said  John  Senior. 

"Like  it  better?" 

"More  like  business!"  said  his  father.  "What 
you  doing?" 

"Oh — some  poetry — foolishness  probably !" 

John  Senior's  face  relaxed.  In  poetry  was  safety. 
At  least  that  was  his  belief.  A  young  man  peace- 
fully occupied  with  poetry  was  not  likely  to  steal  or 
murder — or  fall  in  love. 

"Seen  Bel  lately?"  he  asked.  This  was  John 
Senior's  idea  of  diplomacy.  If  he  had  been  dealing 
in  wheat  he  would  carefully  have  avoided  all  men- 
tion of  crops  or  growing  things.  He  would  have 
approached  the  subject  by  a  long  and  circuitous  path. 
He  would  have  used  finesse.  But  in  dealing  with 
John  Junior  he  sometimes  lost  his  bearings.  Be- 
sides, John  was  writing  poetry — and  safe  for  the 
present. 

John  Senior  would  chat  a  few  minutes  and  get 
back  to  work.  He  beamed  on  his  son. 

The  young  man  was  making  little  marks  on  the 
blotter  on  his  desk.  His  face  was  thoughtful.  His 
father  surveyed  him  affectionately.  The  room  was 
full  of  quiet  happiness. 

John  Junior  looked  up. 

"I  am  going  to  marry  Isabel,"  he  announced. 

John  Senior  jumped.  The  bubble  of  peace  was 
punctured.  He  blew  a  sigh. 


246  THE  RAIN -COAT  GIRL 

"Dear-dear!"  He  said  it  almost  peevishly.  "I 
thought  you  wouldn't !" 

"That  I— wouldn't—  ?"  John  Junior  turned  a 
puzzled  look. 

"Wouldn't  want  to—  Yes!  Dear-dear!"  John 
Senior  sighed  again. 

"  Well,  I  do — want  to.  I'm  going  to."  He  smiled 
and  John  Senior  seeing  the  smile  lost  heart. 

"I've  wanted  to  a  long  tune — all  my  life,  I  guess," 
went  on  John  Junior,  "without  knowing.  I  did  not 
know — till  lately."  He  was  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. His  soul  was  in  a  shining  place.  John  Senior 
was  shut  out. 

John  Senior  circled  about  the  place  hopefully, 
but  there  was  no  opening.  He  moistened  his  lips. 
They  closed  firmly. 

"You  can't  do  it!"  he  said.  "I  won't  have 
it." 

John  Junior  darted  from  his  circle.  He  leaped 
over.  He  was  close  to  John  Senior  now — in  his 
world,  and  glaring  at  him. 

' '  Why  not  ? —    What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

John  Senior  moistened  his  lips  again.  He  looked 
about  him.  Things  were  worse  than  he  thought — 
much  worse. 

"Well— "    He  hesitated.    "I— I  can't  spare  her!" 

John  Junior  laughed  out — in  sheer  happiness. 

"You  will  have  to  spare  her,  dad!"  He  said  it 
kindly.  "I'll  give  you  one  month — not  another 
•day — to  get  a  new  secretary." 

John  Senior  looked  at  him  and  his  eyes  narrowed. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  247 

They  might  have  been  contemplating  a  deal  in 
wheat 

"Has  she  said  she'll  have  you?" 

"I  haven't  asked  her.  I  wanted  to  talk  with  you 
first.  ...  Of  course  I  haven't  anything  but  what 
you  give  me."  The  words  had  a  flick  of  hardness. 
But  they  flashed  to  a  quick  smile.  "I  wanted  you 
to  know.  I've  been  meaning  to  tell  you.  .  .  .  Once 
or  twice  I  thought  you  did  guess."  He  glanced  at 
his  father  half-shyly  with  a  smile. 

John  Senior  shook  his  head  sombrely.  "No,  I 
didn't  guess  things  had  gone  this  far — or  I'd  'a'  said 
something.  ...  Of  course  I  knew  you  liked 
Bel- 

"She  is  divine !"  said  John  Junior  softly. 

The  older  man  stirred  uneasily.  The  memories  of 
life  awoke. 

"Dear-dear!"  was  all  he  said.  He  wiped  his 
brow. 

"Bel  is  a  fine  girl,"  he  admitted  judicially.  "I 
don't  know  a  smarter  or  nicer  girl  anywhere  than  BeL 
But—  He  held  out  an  impressive  hand. 

"  She  isn't  the  one  for  you  to  marry ! " 

"You  think  I'm  not  good  enough  for  her,"  said 
John  quickly.  "Of  course  I'm  not —  Nobody  is! 
Nobody  could  be.  But  I  want  to  surround  her— 
with  beautiful  things.  ...  I  want  to  give  her  the 
chance  to  be  herself!"  He  said  it  softly. 

"She's  herself,  all  right !"  said  the  senior  curtly. 

"No!  You  don't  know  her — her  real  self — what 
she  is  capable  of.  None  of  us  know  her.  She 


248  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

doesn't  know  herself.  .  .  .  Some  days  I  feel  as  if 
she  were  inexhaustible — a  mine  of  wealth!  Un- 
dreamed power  in  her — all  the  green  things  in  the 
forests  of  the  earth.  Everything  is  in  her — waiting ! " 

This  was  sheer  poetry  of  course.  But  John 
Senior's  eyes  narrowed  again.  He  had  suddenly  a 
vision  of  his  oil-wells  bubbling  up — crude  and  sticky 
and  dirty  and  rich — his  oil-wells ! 

He  could  not  count  the  dollars  they  were  flowing 
out  to  him — spouting  in  the  air.  .  .  .  He  leaned 
forward. 

" See  here,  Johnnie !"  He  touched  his  knee.  "I 
think  as  much  of  Bel  as  you  do — enough  sight  more 
maybe.  I  know  what  she's  worth — better'n  you  do. 
I'll  never  get  another  secretary  to  match  her — 
Never!" 

It  came  over  him  suddenly.  "Why,  she  under- 
stands a  man ! "  He  said  quickly.  He  sat  up. 

"When  I  say  'gol-durn-you,'  meaning  'hurry  up, 
please,'  she  gets  it  right — first  tune.  I  don't  have 
to  keep  saying  it  over  and  over — a  dozen  tunes  for 
her  to  get  the  idea !" 

He  sighed  again.  "That's  the  kind  she  is  and  no- 
body knows  it  better'n  I  do.  But — "  He  held  up 
his  hand.  "I'm  going  to  tell  you  something,  John." 

He  hesitated.  He  had  intended  to  wait  till  things 
were  a  little  further  along.  He  had  signed  the  op- 
tion and  given  security — good  security  too —  But  if 
they  pressed  him.  .  .  .  Then  the  oil  gushed  forth 
and  swept  him  along  on  its  tide,  triumphant 

"We  are  rich,  John !"  he  said  solemnly. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  249 

John  Junior  stared  a  little.  "Of  course  we're 
rich !  But  it  doesn't  matter  that  Bel  is  poor —  We 
have  enough  for  us  all — enough  to  do  as  we  please, 
haven't  we?" 

"We  have  too  much — to  do  as  we  please,"  said  his 
father.  His  voice  sank  to  an  awed  note— 

"  We  shall  have  millions,  John.  I  don't  know  how 
many  and  its  spouting  all  the  time,  higher  and 
higher !  We've  got  to  live  up  to  it !"  He  rose  from 
his  chair.  "We've  got  to  live  high!"  he  said.  He 
seemed  to  see  their  vastness  spouting. 

John  Junior  was  looking  at  him  curiously 

"What  do  you  mean,  dad?" 

"Just  what  I  say!"  John  Berwick  paced  a  few 
steps  on  the  Wilton  rug.  "I've  made  an  invest- 
ment—  The  whole  deal  isn't  finished.  But  we  own 
a  claim  of  the  best  oil-land  in  Kansas.  Right 
close  to,  the  wells  are  running  to-day — spouting  in 
the  air — enormous !"  He  spread  his  hands. 

"It's  landed  us  on  top,  John.  You've  got  to 
choose  a  wife  that's  on  top — knows  how  to  sit  on 
top — walk  on  top,  eat  on  top !" 

He  waved  his  arms  and  gesticulated — and  came  to 
earth. 

"That  Miss  Braithwaite,  now,  is  something  the 
kind  I  mean,"  he  said  craftily.  "  She  makes  you  feel 
she's  always  had  things — expects  to  have  'em,  right 
along.  No  airs  about  it!  She  don't  lift  a  finger 
hardly,  but  you  know  you've  got  to  have  things  done 
for  her  and  done  right — or  there'll  be  a  rumpus !  .  .  . 
No,  not  rumpus—  He  paused  swiftly. 


250  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Nothing  so  crude  as  a  rumpus,"  he  said  though t- 
fully. 

"You  just  wouldn't  be  there —  She  wouldn't  see 
you —  She'd  walk  right  on  and  over  you  and  not 
know  you're  there !"  he  chuckled. 

John  Junior  woke  from  his  daze 

"Yes —  I  know  what  you  mean  about  Ellen 
Braithwaite,  I've  felt  it— 

"You  have?"    It  was  as  if  John  Senior  said — 

"Bless  you,  my  son !" 

John  Junior  nodded  with  a  smile. 

"I  felt  it  so  strong  at  one  time  that  it  swerved  me 
away  from  Isabel — for  a  little  while.  .  .  .  Ellen 
Braithwaite  is  complex  and  beautiful ! " 

"  She  is ! —    She  is ! "  said  John  Senior. 

"And  finished!"  said  John  Junior.  "So  finished 
she  keeps  you  guessing  all  the  time  what  she  means — 
and  perhaps  she  doesn't  mean " 

He  broke  off  and  darted  to  the  closet  across  the 
room.  He  plunged  in.  His  voice  came  back 
dimly 

"  She's  here  somewhere ! "  he  said. 

He  reappeared  a  little  rumpled  with  a  large  frame. 
He  set  it  on  the  floor  against  the  wall  where  the  sun 
shone  full  on  the  Mona  Lisa  face. 

"  There ! "  he  said.     "  There  she  is ! " 

John  Senior  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
looking  down  at  the  enigmatic  smile.  He  tilted  back 
and  forth  on  his  toes  happily. 

"That's  her!"  he  said.  "I  always  liked  her!" 
He  studied  the  sufficient  face. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  251 

"She'd  spend  your  money,  wouldn't  she?  And 
not  turn  a  hair!"  He  gave  a  sigh  of  satisfaction 
and  glanced  at  his  son. 

"That's  what  I  mean!"  said  John  Junior  so- 
berly. 

He  took  the  portrait  in  his  two  hands  and  returned 
it  to  the  closet.  He  shut  the  door  firmly. 

"That's  where  I've  put  her!"  he  said.  ...  "I 
found  out  one  day  that  Isabel  made  me  alive — my 
heart  went  bubbling  and  singing  about  her.  .  .  . 
Oh,  father—  It's  no  use ! "  He  flung  out  his  hand 
whimsically. 

John  Senior  took  it  and  stood  looking  at  him. 

"See  here,  Johnnie — I  don't  ask  you  to  give  Bel 
up  forever — I  know  what  you  mean  about  that 
bubbling  and  singing.  .  .  .  Good  Lord,  I  guess  I 
do !  ...  All  I  ask  is  't  you  should  wait  a  spell.  .  .  . 
Don't  do  anything  sudden.  That's  all  I  ask." 

"All  right,  father —  But  not  too  long!  You've 
got  to  play  fair ! " 

John  Senior  patted  the  hand. 

"No — no !—     I  don't  ask  you  to  wait  forever." 

"I've  got  a  deal  on  hand — and  I've  got  to  go 
steady,  keep  a  level  head.  Bel  helps — you've  no 
idea  how  she  helps  a  man." 

"Haven't  I?"  said  John  softly. 

"They're  after  me,"  said  John  Senior.  "They'll 
knife  me — if  they  can.  You  just  give  me  time, 
Johnnie!" 

"All  right,  dad ! —    Only  hurry  up  your  deal !" 

John  Berwick  had  never  heard  of  Quintus  Fabius 


252  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

Maximus  Verrochus — but  as  a  man  of  business  he 
knew  the  policy  of  delay 

"I  might  kind  o'  sound  Miss  Braithwaite,"  he 
suggested. 

"Never!"  John  laughed.  "She  doesn't  know  I 
exist.  She's  in  love  with  some  one  else " 

His  father  turned  sharply. 

"What  do  you  mean !" 

"Why,  she's  in  love  with  Isabel — the  way  we  all 
are!"  said  John,  smiling  in  his  assured  happiness. 
"No  one  can  help  loving  Isabel !" 

"Humph!"  said  John  Senior.  He  sighed.  He 
left  the  room. 

John  Junior's  glance  followed. 

"No  one  can  help  loving  Isabel!"  he  repeated 
softly  and  happily — as  if  it  were  a  little  chant— 
"No  one  can  help " 

John  Senior's  head  popped  in  the  door. 

John  Junior  had  taken  a  paper  from  the  drawer 
of  his  desk  and  was  absorbed  in  it. 

John  Senior  closed  the  door  and  tiptoed  softly 
away. 

He  would  have  been  vastly  astonished  had  he 
looked  over  John  Junior's  shoulder  and  discovered 
that  the  title  of  the  poem  was  "The  Silk-MiU," 
and  still  more  astonished,  had  he  seen  that  it  was  all 
about  a  young  girl  with  a  quiet  face,  who  seemed 
none  the  less  to  be  going  at  an  extraordinary  rate  of 
speed  inside — not  so  much  the  sleep  of  a  spinning  top, 
as  the  noiseless  hum  of  a  high-powered  dynamo — if 
one  might  judge  from  the  poem. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  253 

It  was  perhaps  as  well  John  Senior  did  not  read  the 
poem.  He  had  accepted  his  position  as  father  of  a 
poet  without  flinching.  But  in  the  present  state  of 
stress  he  was  in  no  mood  to  discover  himself  also 
the  father  of  a  symbolist. 


XXXVII 

HE  did  not  glance  at  the  two  bent  heads  typing 
swiftly  in  the  outer  office  as  he  went  through  to  his 
own  room  and  closed  the  door. 

"Grouch!"  murmured  Fannie  inaudibly  to  her 
machine. 

Isabel  did  not  look  up.  She  was  busy  with  copy. 
She  had  nearly  finished.  She  wondered  whether 
John  Senior  was  ready  to  dictate  again. 

John  Senior  behind  the  closed  door  rolled  all  the 
window  shades  to  the  top  and  sat  down.  He 
plunged  his  hand  into  his  pockets  and  stretched  his 
legs.  His  absent  gaze  regarded  the  extended  toes. 
The  toes  remained  inert.  .  .  .  After  a  minute  they 
wiggled  a  little  and  worked  back  and  forth.  Then 
they  moved  rapidly — and  stopped  short — and  went 
on  in  slow  impatient  jerks.  .  .  . 

Just  what  was  Braithwaite  up  to  now  ?—  Or  was 
it  Braithwaite?  .  .  .  There  was  nothing  to  lay 
your  finger  on — but  the  attacks  on  his  oil-securities 
were  driving  him  to  the  wall.  He  must  hurry  up 
the  oil-deal —  And  it  was  not  safe  to  hurry  it.  He 
would  spill  all  the  beans  if  he  hurried.  ...  All  he 
needed  was  time  to  sell  part  of  the  claim — a  very 
small  part,  and  retain  his  eighth-interest.  Then  he 
would  snap  his  fingers  at  the  bunch ! 

The  toes  worked  rapidly.  .  .  . 

254 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  255 

The  money  from  the  sale  would  cover  his  se- 
curities— all  of  them  and  leave  him  a  margin  to  run 
on.  ...  They  were  determined  he  should  not 
have  time. 

He  remained  sunk  in  his  chair,  staring  at  it — that 
was  Braithwaite's  hand !  He  had  not  a  doubt  of  it 
— Braithwaite  was  vice-president  of  the  First  Na- 
tional Bank  in  Camden,  and  the  First  National  held 
securities.  They  had  not  pressed  him  yet — but  it 
was  getting  narrowed  down  to  the  First  National. 

Braithwaite  had  failed  with  Moulton — just  too 
late  with  Moulton !  John  Senior  chuckled  comfort- 
ably— and  he  would  fail  this  time  if  he  could  hold 
steady  and  stave  them  off —  They  didn't  know 
the  parties  who  were  interested  in  buying.  ...  If 
they  got  hold  of  that — !  He  blew  a  quick  sigh 
and  drew  in  his  feet.  ...  If  they  got  hold  of  that ! 
...  He  saw  the  game  as  clearly  as  if  their  cards 
were  laid  on  the  table  before  him  and  he  smiled  at 
it  grimly.  If  they  could  find  out  these  other  parties 
that  were  interested  in  buying  and  could  make  a 
deal  with  them  to  hold  off  long  enough — they  would 
have  him!  Then  they  could  squeeze  his  securities 
one  after  another — make  him  cover  till  he  had  noth- 
ing left  to  cover  with  .  .  .  nothing  but  a  share  in 
the  oil-field — a  good  big  slice  they  would  consent  to 
take  when  it  came  to  that ! 

He  looked  at  it  grimly.  .  .  .  Well,  it  should  not 
come  to  that!  He  thrust  out  his  toes  again  and 
worked  them  thoughtfully —  It  would  not  come  to 
that — not  if  he  kept  his  hand  steady  and  played 


256  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

the  game.  They  hadn't  got  him  yet — not  by  a 
long  shot !  There  was  still  the  mill  and  the  house. 
And  the  deal  would  go  through  all  right  if  he  gave 
the  parties  time.  The  least  sign  of  hurry  would 
scare  them  off —  Time  was  what  he  wanted — time 
and  a  cool  head.  .  .  .  His  toes  ceased  to  work. 
He  came  slowly  back  to  the  office.  He  blinked  at 
it  gratefully.  .  .  .  Lucky,  John  told  him  about 
Bel  this  morning.  He  couldn't  have  her  upset  just 
now — getting  ideas !  He  needed  her. 

He  pushed  the  button  on  his  desk. 

He  would  get  to  work. 

He  looked  at  her  approvingly  as  she  came  in. 
Her  face  had  a  clear  soft  glow — the  light  in  her  eyes 
seemed  to  well  up  and  flood  it — as  the  sun  floods  a 
landscape. 

"Sit  down !"  said  John  Senior  kindly. 

He  dictated  and  her  fingers  flew.  She  knew  his 
mood.  Behind  the  swift  curt  words  he  was  holding 
himself  tense.  The  words  grew  as  he  spoke  them— 
He  was  a  man  in  a  trance.  ...  If  she  broke  the 
mood  by  word  or  gesture  he  could  not  recover  the 
power  that  was  thrusting  the  quick  sharp  sentences 
at  her  faster  than  her  pencil  could  follow.  Her 
cheeks  glowed  softly,  her  eyes  shone,  her  breath 
quickened.  .  .  .  She  was  a  part  of  the  creative 
energy  that  was  shaping  the  policy  of  John  Berwick 
and  Son.  Without  her  John  Senior  would  have  to 
go  slowly  and  grope  for  words  and  swear.  She  knew 
how  Fannie  dreaded  her  sessions  with  John  Senior. 

But  now  the  words  drove  steadily  on.     Letter 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  257 

succeeded  letter  without  break.  Almost,  one  grew 
from  the  other.  She  saw  the  pattern  of  the  whole 
shape  itself  and  her  willingness  leaped  to  it — and 
ran  a  little  ahead  and  signaled  to  him  to  come  on. 
Between  them  the  last  letter  was  caught  in  the  swift- 
flowing  curves  and  swirls  and  came  to  its  finish. 

He  pushed  back  from  his  desk. 

"That's  all !"  he  said  curtly. 

She  drew  a  breath  and  got  up.  "These  go  in  the 
eight-thirty,  I  suppose — all  of  them?" 

He  nodded  with  satisfaction. 

"All  of  them." 

She  looked  again  and  hesitated.  The  moment  was 
ripe.  She  must  not  lose  tune. 

"Are  you  busy?"  she  asked. 

He  spread  his  hands.  "I've  done  my  day's  work. ' ' 
He  took  out  his  watch  and  glanced  at  it. 

"Just  fifty  minutes !"  he  remarked  complacently. 
He  glowed  with  approval. 

She  sat  down.  "There's  something  I  wanted  to 
talk  over — "  She  hesitated. 

"Go  ahead !"  he  encouraged. 

"I  want  to  do  something  different  from  this — " 
She  indicated  the  office  vaguely.  She  caught  the 
sharp  startled  look  hi  his  face  and  hurried  on 

"I  have  to !"  she  said  swiftly. 

He  regarded  her  a  minute  coldly. 

"  More  money  ?  "  he  asked.     She  flushed. 

"No.  ...  At  least  it's  not  the  money.  ...  I 
suppose  there  will  be  money  in  it — money  for  every- 
body," she  added.  Her  face  glowed  a  little. 


258  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"You  mean  you're  going  to  leave  me?"  The 
question  was  mild.  She  knew  the  volcano  was  quiet- 
est just  before  it  spurted  and  she  knew  the  tense 
look  in  his  face. 

"I  have  to!"  she  repeated  firmly.  "It  came  to 
me  that  way " 

"What  way?"  he  interrupted  harshly.  She  hesi- 
tated. .  .  . 

It  was  not  easy  to  bridge  the  gap  between  his 
wrath  and  her  vision.  .  .  .  They  seemed  to  be  in 
different  worlds,  they  breathed  different  air — they 
spoke  a  different  language.  .  .  .  She  must  say 
something  he  could  understand.  .  .  . 

"I  like  to  work  with  you,  you  know,"  she  said 
slowly.  "I  seem  alive  when  I  am  taking  down  the 
things  you  say." 

He  relaxed  subtly — but  he  watched  her  face. 
It  brooded  a  little 

"Perhaps  that  is  the  way  I  learned  it — from  you !" 
she  said  quickly,  " — being  with  you  and  getting  to 
feel  alive  like  that.  It  makes  other  things  seem  dead 
— as  if  they  weren't  real,  you  know."  She  glanced 
at  him  almost  timidly. 

He  was  quiet.  He  was  looking  at  something  that 
seemed  to  puzzle  him. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"So  I  have  to  do  something — that  takes  all  of 
me,"  she  said  as  if  it  were  the  logical  conclusion. 

He  snorted  a  little  grimly.  "I  can  give  you  more 
work — if  that's  what  you  want."  He  glanced  sug- 
gestively at  the  notes  in  her  hand. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  259 

But  she  ignored  it.  "  It  isn't  that — not  that  kind 
of  'more.'  I  want  work  that  no  one  else  will  do — 
something  that  needs  doing  and  no  one  will  do  and 
every  one  will  be  better  off  if  I  take  hold  and  do  it." 

"Humph!"  said  John  Senior.     She  nodded. 

"I  saw  it  just  as  if  it  were  a  picture — a  kind  of 
vision  or  something.  .  .  .  And  I've  got  to!  .  .  . 
There's  nobody  except  old  Mrs.  Atkins,"  she  went 
on  swiftly.  "She  can't  begin  to  do  it — and  she 
doesn't  do  it  well  either.  It's  got  to  be  done  well !" 
She  seemed  to  see  a  vision  of  green  fields — the  light 
of  the  sun-lit  ranges  ahead.  It  held  her  rapt  and 
breathless. 

He  stared 

"You're  going  to  help  old  Mrs.  Atkins?"  he  said 
dryly —  He  waved  a  hand  at  the  office,  "Instead 
of  this?" 

She  followed  the  gesture.    Her  face  laughed. 

"It's  absurd,  isn't  it — to  want  to  do  just — 
washing?  But  I  do  and  I'm  going  to!"  She  got 
up  quietly. 

"I'd  like  to  begin  as  soon  as  lean.  .  .  .  You  can 
get  a  good  stenographer  at  the  Commercial  School 
in  Camden.  I  know  a  girl  there — a  good  one. 
And  I've  made  out  a  list—  She  took  it  from  her 
pad  and  laid  it  beside  him 

"What's  that?"  he  asked  shortly. 

"A  list  of  the  girls  I  shall  want  to  take  with  me — 
and  girls  to  replace  them  in  the  mill." 

His  eyes  dropped  to  it  unwillingly. 

"They're  the  Greeks!"  he  said  quickly.     "You 


260  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

know  the  girls  won't  stand  for  that—  He  caught 
at  any  straw  till  he  could  collect  his  wits  and  control 
the  anger  that  flamed  in  him. 

There  was  foolishness  and  steadiness  and  power  in 
the  girl  that  angered  him  beyond  words.  It  was  a 
battle  that  would  need  all  his  self-control.  He  made 
an  abrupt  gesture. 

"Sit  down,  Bel.  We'll  go  over  this  thing  quietly. 
You've  got  a  crazy  notion  in  your  head !  Girls  do 
get  'em — but  I  didn't  think  you  would !  This  list 
you've  made  out  is  a  sample  of  the  whole  thing— 
the  foolishness  of  it.  It's  in  the  air !  You've  given 
me  a  list  of  names  you've  picked  up  and  you  say 
you're  going  to  take  these  others —  Millie  and  Susan 
and  so  on,  and  I  can  have  these  foreigners !" 

"I've  tried  this  foreigner-business — and  it  won't 
work.  That  shows  you  how  foolish  the  whole  thing 
is."  He  looked  at  her  in  fatherly  kindness. 

" It  will  work  now,"  said  Isabel.  "We  know  these 
Greek  girls  and  like  them.  They  come  to  our  dances. 
There  won't  be  any  trouble.  .  .  .  I've  thought  it 
out.  I  couldn't  go  and  I  couldn't  take  the  other 
girls  if  it  would  really  hurt  the  mill — but  it  won't. 
Every  one  will  be  better  off." 

"And  my  mother  and  the  women  who  are  not 
strong  enough  to  do  their  washing  any  longer  will 
be  a  good  deal  better  off.  You  see  it's  something 
that  needs  doing !" 

"  Don't  you  know  that  7  need  you,  Bel  ?  "  He  was 
looking  at  her  steadily,  holding  himself  well  in  hand. 

She  shook  her  head.     "Not  the  way  the  washing 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  261 

does!"  she  said  quickly.  "Nobody  wamts  to  do 
that.  They  despise  it — and  shove  it  off  on  a  poor 
half-sick  woman  like  Mrs.  Atkins.  Why,  it  ought  to 
be  fun  to  do  it — build  up  a  business  out  of  it ! "  Her 
cheeks  glowed. 

"But  this—  She  swept  the  office  with  a  glance. 
"Any  girl  that's  taken  a  course  can  do  it !" 

"I  tell  you  they  cannot  /"  he  thundered.  "They 
drive  me  crazy ! " 

She  drew  herself  a  little  away.  He  might  have 
been  a  small  boy  that  her  eyes  regarded  impartially 
and  severely 

"You  have  no  right  to  want  to  eat  me  up !"  she 
said. 

"  Eat— ! "    He  gasped.    She  nodded. 

"That's  all  you  want  to  do —  I  just  give  myself 
to  the  business — all  of  me — and  some  day  I  die— 
and  that's  all." 

He  had  a  flitting  thought  of  John  Junior.  But  he 
controlled  it  sternly. 

"You  want  to  be  head  of  the  business,  do  you?" 
He  had  a  little  amused  sneer  for  her  airs. 

"Not  your  business!"  she  said  with  a  glint  that 
flashed  to  him  and  held  itself —  Then  she  laughed. 

"How  silly!  You  know  I  couldn't  manage  any- 
thing like  Berwick's." 

He  waited  a  minute.  He  had  one  more  card  to 
play- 
He  motioned  to  her  note-book.  "You  know  what 
I'm  trying  to  do,  Bel.  You  understand  what  those 
letters  mean  and  what  I'm  fighting  off."  His  voice 


262  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

grew  gentle.  "  Nobody  else  in  the  world  understands 
— not  even  John." 

She  stirred  a  little — but  she  did  not  speak. 

"I  want  you  to  help — stand  by  me  and  help  me 
win.  .  .  .  You  won't  be  sorry,"  he  added  signifi- 
cantly. 

He  waited — but  she  did  not  speak.  She  seemed 
to  be  listening  to  the  words  that  went  on  after  he 
stopped. 

"You  know  what  the  deal  means  to  me — I  shall 
be  worth  millions!"  He  said  it  almost  solemnly. 
She  lifted  her  eyes  quietly. 

"And  then?"  she  said. 

He  stared. 

"  Then—     What  ?  "  he  repeated  vacantly. 

"After  you're  worth  the  millions !  What  is  the 
good  of  it?" 

He  gasped  a  little  and  glared  at  her.  But  she  was 
not  ridiculing  him.  Her  face  was  serious. 

"You'll  have  the  money,"  she  went  on.  "But 
no  one  will  be  any  better  off.  ...  If  I  help  I  want 
it  to  count  for  something " 

He  made  a  quick  gesture  of  scorn. 

"How  much?"  he  asked  curtly. 

She  stared. 

(*How  much — do  you  want?"  he  repeated.  His 
face  had  a  sharp  look  and  there  was  keenness  and 
contempt  in  the  glance  that  swept  her. 

Her  face  flushed  slowly.  She  did  not  look  up. 
She  seemed  to  be  holding  something  in  control- 
something  that  threatened  to  overcome  her— 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  263 

"I  —  did  not  make  it  clear,"  she  said  slowly.  "It 
is  not  easy  to  tell  any  one,  because  I  don't  know 
myself.  Only  in  flashes  it  comes  to  me  —  and  noth- 
ing else  in  the  world  seems  worth  doing.  ...  I 
did  not  mean  what  you  thought  —  about  the  money." 
Her  voice  trembled  and  she  hurried  on.  "I  only 
meant  the  money's  dead  —  while  you  make  it  and 
when  you  get  it.  .  .  .  It  can't  laugh  or  talk  —  or  put 
its  arm  round  you  and  dance  and  make  everybody 
happy  together  -  " 

"That's  what  I  mean  —  "  she  said  quickly,  "some- 
thing we're  all  doing  together  !" 

"Profit-sharing  !  "  he  sneered.     "  It's  a  fake  !  " 

"  It's  a  sop  !  "  he  added  angrily.  "  Don't  I  know  ! 
/  could  introduce  it  —  if  I  was  mean  enough  —  pretend 
I'm  doing  it  for  their  good!"  He  brought  his  fist 
down  sharply  on  the  arm  of  the  chair.  "I'd  rather 
shut  up  shop  !  I'm  in  the  business  to  make  money  — 
like  everybody  else  !  Only  I'm  honest  and  say  so. 
A  business  ought  to  make  money  for  the  man  that 
runs  it  and  takes  risks  and  lies  awake  nights  over 


"Yes,  that's  what's  wrong,"  she  assented. 
"Everybody  ought  to  lie  awake  nights." 

"Humph!"  he  snorted.     She  nodded. 

"Everybody  —  or  nobody,  it  seems  to  me.  .  .  . 
I'm  only  just  beginning  to  see  —  and  I  can't  say  it  very 
well.  But  it's  as  if  a  business  was  something  alive. 
...  It  has  to  have  a  head  —  but  it  has  to  have  hands 
and  feet,  too,  and  a  heart  and  lungs,  and  they're  all 
part  of  it  —  just  as  the  head  is  —  they're  all  alive  to- 


264  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

gether.  And  if  the  head  doesn't  take  care  of  the 
hands  and  feet — "  She  broke  off  looking  at  it  and 
smiling.  .  .  . 

"I  suppose  it's  silly.  But  I  seem  to  see  a  lovely 
head  with  its  hair  done  up  soft  and  shining  and  a 
beautiful  hat  on  and  veil —  And  the  feet  have  thick 
dirty  shoes,  and  the  dress  is  ugly  and  the  hands  all 
rough  and  the  neck  scrawny!"  She  laughed  out 
quickly.  "That's  the  way  a  business  looks  to  me !" 

"Why  shouldn't  it  be  all  beautiful?"  She  bent 
forward  looking  at  him  with  shining  eyes—  "Why 
shouldn't  we  work  together — the  hands  do  what  they 
can,  and  the  lungs  and  the  heart  and  the  spinal  col- 
umn, all  for  themselves  and  all  for  everybody  else !" 
She  spread  her  hands  in  a  quick  gesture  and  broke 
off  abruptly,  gazing  at  it. 

She  had  forgotten  him.  .  .  .  She  was  seeing  the 
vision  that  seemed  worth  while.  .  .  . 

He  stirred  uneasily.  Then  his  face  hardened.  He 
regarded  her  a  minute  coldly.  Perhaps  he  was  see- 
ing a  vision  too — a  new  and  alien  power  that  must  be 
crushed  if  he  and  his  kind  would  live. 

She  looked  up  and  met  his  gaze  steadily. 

His  face  was  hard.    He  was  regarding  her  coldly. 

"You  better  get  your  work  out,"  he  said.  He 
nodded  to  the  pad  in  her  hand. 

She  flushed  and  got  up.  She  looked  at  him  and 
hesitated.  He  did  not  notice  her.  He  was  busy 
with  the  papers  on  his  desk —  His  hand  trembled  a 
little. 

"When  can  you  spare  me?"  she  asked  quietly. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  265 


He  wheeled  on  her- 


" Spare  you!"  he  thundered—  "Now!  This 
minute — if  you  want  to  go ! —  The  sooner  the 
better ! "  He  was  white  with  rage ! 

She  controlled  her  lip. 

"I  will  stay  till  the  end  of  the  month."  "I  can 
show  the  new  stenographer  if  you  have  her  come 
to-morrow." 

He  did  not  look  at  her.  He  fussed  at  the  papers. 
"The  stenographer  will  come  to-morrow,"  he  said. 
"I  shall  not  need  you  after  to-day —  I  never  want 
to  see  you  again!" 

She  opened  the  door  and  went  out,  a  little  dazed. 

In  his  office  John  Senior  glared  at  the  papers — 

"Damn ! "  he  said  softly.     " Damn-damn-damn ! " 

And  after  a  minute  a  final  flashing  puff ! 

"Damn!"  ...   . 

Then  the  room  was  still. 


XXXVIII 

SHE  finished  the  letters  and  carried  them  to  John 
Senior's  desk  and  placed  them  under  the  paper- 
weight. 

John  Senior  had  gone  out  without  a  glance  at  her. 

He  would  be  back  again  to  sign  the  letters,  she 
knew.  But  he  might  not  come  before  she  left.  It 
was  Saturday.  No  one  worked  Saturday  afternoons 
—except  John  Senior. 

Her  face  was  thoughtful  as  she  laid  the  letters  on 
his  desk. 

He  was  always  working,  and  never  happy.  No 
one  knew  as  she  did  the  fierce  unrest  that  gripped  him 
—the  wild  unsparing  energy  that  drove  him.  .  .  . 
She  knew  how  he  would  miss  her.  She  felt  in  every 
fibre  the  way  John  Senior  would  miss  her—  The 
very  thought  was  painful.  .  .  .  But  the  determina- 
tion in  her  face  did  not  relax.  She  cleaned  her 
machine  and  oiled  it.  She  brought  the  dust-cloth 
from  the  closet  and  dusted  her  desk  and  then  John 
Senior's,  touching  each  article  gently  as  if  she  were 
saying  good-by  to  it. 

Fannie  from  her  machine  looked  over  once  or  twice, 
a  little  scowl  in  her  gaze. 

"What's  all  the  fuss?"  she  asked  at  last,  almost 
impatiently. 

"Nothing,"  said  Isabel  tranquilly.  "I'm  just 

266 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  267 

putting  things  to  rights."  She  would  have  to  tell 
Fannie  and  she  dreaded  it.  There  was  a  coldness  in 
the  office  that  she  found  it  hard  to  account  for — 
Fannie,  of  all  the  girls,  stood  aloof  from  the  dances 
in  the  engine-house.  She  came  sometimes  with 
Samuel  Hodgkins.  But  she  seemed  almost  inten- 
tionally to  shut  herself  off  from  the  social  life  of 
Hanover.  On  Sundays  she  was  always  in  Camden, 
and  often  in  the  middle  of  the  week.  She  had  re- 
fused to  join  the  tennis  club  that  now  had  three 
courts  and  was  the  centre  of  life  on  Saturday  after- 
noons. There  was  a  small  fee  to  pay.  But  it 
was  not  the  fee,  Isabel  felt  sure,  that  kept  Fannie 
out  .  .  .  Comradeship  hi  the  office  was  a  thing  of 
the  past.  There  had  been  no  open  break,  but  Fan- 
nie held  her  at  arm's  length. 

Isabel  watched  her  a  little  wistfully.  She  wished 
she  knew  why. 

Fannie's  name  was  not  in  the  list  she  had  given 
John  Senior.  He  would  at  least  have  her  left  in  the 
office. 

Fannie  finished  her  sheet  and  glanced  at  the 
clock 

"You're  wasting  a  lot  of  time,"  she  commented. 

"Yes.  .  .  .  I  want  to  leave  everything  in  order." 
Something  in  the  tone  arrested  attention.  Fannie 
turned  and  stared  coolly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked.  There  was  a 
startled  note  in  the  question. 

"I'm  not  going  to  typewrite — any  more,"  said 
Isabel.  She  carried  the  duster  to  the  closet. 


268  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

Fannie  swung  back  to  her  machine. 

"  Going  to  be  promoted,  I  suppose  I"  The  words 
nicked  a  little.  It  used  to  be  a  joke  between  them— 
Fannie's  pet  grievance  that  Isabel  was  in  line  for 
promotion — the  favorite  in  the  office.  But  there 
was  no  humor  hi  the  words  she  shot  out  now. 

She  covered  her  machine  and  got  up.  Her  face 
was  white. 

Isabel  came  slowly  from  the  closet. 

"I'm  through  in  the  mill,"  she  said  quietly. 

Fannied  looked  at  her  slowly. 

"You  going  to  be  married?"  she  demanded. 

"No,"  said  Isabel. 

A  fierce  look  came  into  the  face  watching  her.  It 
worked  strangely — — 

"I  suppose  you're  going  to  live  with  that  Braith- 
waite  woman  ?  "  she  said  savagely.  "  Be  with  her  all 
the  time!  My  God — how  I  hate  her!"  She 
sobbed  it  through  the  strange  workings  of  her  face. 

"Why— Fannie!" 

The  girl  nodded  fiercely 

"  I  hate  her — I  tell  you !  Taking  you  away — mak- 
ing a  lady  of  you !  I  hate  her !"  She  stamped  her 
foot.  She  turned  away  trying  to  conceal  the  face 
that  the  tears  poured  down. 

Isabel  moved  to  her — laughter  and  relief  struggling 
and  making  her  suddenly  happy. 

"Fannie!"  She  touched  her  arm.  "I'm  just 
going  to  open  a  laundry —  That's  all !" 

"  What— ! "    The  girl  gasped— 

There  was  a  long  bewildered  minute  of  silence. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  269 

"Well!—  Of  all  the  silly  things!"  said  Fannie. 
She  drew  in  her  breath  on  a  little  sob. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  "  she  demanded  sharply, 
"making  me  act  like  a  fool !" 

"I  am  telling  you,"  said  Isabel.  She  laughed  out. 
They  were  on  the  old  safe  footing !  She  could  have 
thrown  her  arms  round  Fannie  and  hugged  her.  .  .  . 
But  Fannie  was  not  the  hugging  kind. 

She  stood  gazing  at  Isabel,  belligerent 

"Who's  going  to  be  here — in  the  office?"  she  de- 
manded. "There's  no  one  can  take  your  place !" 

The  awf ulness  of  it  came  over  her 

"Does  he  know — ?"  she  asked,  breathless. 

Isabel  nodded. 

"He's  mad?" 

"A  little,"  admitted  Isabel 

"And  nobody  but  me  to  swear  at !"  moaned  Fan- 
nie. "  I  won't  stay ! ' '  She  threw  out  her  hands 

"I'm  going  with  you,  Bel —  You've  got  to  take 
me  in  that  laundry  1  You  needn't  think  I'm  going 
to  stay  here  with  that — "  She  glared  fearfully  at  the 
office  door —  "  — that  fire-eater ! "  she  breathed.  "  I 
just  won't ! " 

"But  Fannie!" 

"I  won't — not  for  nobody !"  retorted  Fannie. 

"And  you  all  needn't  think  it's  all  him  I"  She 
moved  a  scornful  hand  to  the  inner  door  and  turned 
to  her  half-pleading. 

"I  want  to  be  with  you,  BeL  .  .  .  I  can  do  laun- 
dry, as  well  as  any  one,  I  guess —  I  never  tried.  .  .  . 
Maybe  I'll  dip  'em  in  corn-starch  and  streak  the 


270  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

bluing —  But  where  you  go,  Bel  Merton,  I'm 
going ! "  There  was  something  ready  to  break  in  the 
piquant  face  gazing  at  her  defiantly. 

Isabel  moved  to  her. 

"All  right,  Fannie!" 

She  put  out  a  hand  and  the  girl  seized  it. 

They  stood  for  a  moment  clasping  hands  like  two 
boys,  confronting  each  other.  It  was  a  compact. 

Isabel  dropped  the  hand  with  a  sigh. 

"I  don't  know  what  he'll  do!"  she  murmured. 
Fannie  cast  a  quick  look.  A  smile  danced  hi  her 
face. 

"Sam  Hodgkins'll  come,"  she  said.  "He'd  like 
to — and  he'll  be  good  for  him  !" 

She  moved  to  the  telephone. 

"I'll  ask  him  right  now." 

There  was  delay  in  locating  Samuel  Hodgkins, 
and  Isabel  occupied  herself  in  finishing  the  office, 
making  it  immaculate.  Her  ear  caught  only  giggles 
from  Fannie  and  murmurs  and  parts  of  sentences. 

"Of  all  the  cheek!"  .  .  .  "Not  much!"- 
"Well!  All  right.  .  .  .  Yes— all  right!"  Fannie 
hung  up  breathless.  She  swung  about  in  her  chair. 

"He'll  come!"  she  announced.  "He  says  he'll 
have  the  Principal  recommend  him  when  John  Senior 
calls  up."  She  sat  with  a  thoughtful  look,  gazing  at 
the  floor. 

"He  was  awfully  funny  about  it ! "  she  commented 
dryly.  "  What  do  you  think  he  said  ?  "  She  looked 
at  Isabel  half-doubtingly. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  271 

"Said  he'd  come  if  I'd  marry  him !" 

Isabel  laughed.     "Did  you  say  you  would?" 

"Yes.  I  said  so —  to  get  him,"  she  added  sa- 
gaciously. 

"Then  you  will.    You've  got  to  play  fair." 

Fannie  sighed.  "  I  do'no' !  He's  an  awful  bother ! 
.  .  .  Yes,  I  suppose  I  will ! "  Her  face  was  sober. 

"He's  an  awful  nice  fellow,  Bel !  I  never  told  you 
about  a  lily  he  sent  me — last  Easter-time — did  I?" 

Isabel  shook  her  head. 

"I  never  told  anybody — I  didn't  like  to  say  any- 
thing about  it  some  way —  But  he  sent  something 
with  it — poetry,  that  let  me  see  what  he's  like.  .  .  . 
you  wouldn't  believe  to  look  at  him,  the  way  he  feels 
inside.  .  .  .  It's — it's  kind  of  beautiful,"  she  said 
wistfully.  "Of  course  I'm  not  the  way  he  thinks  I 
am — no  poetry  about  me  /"  she  sighed. 

"He  says  he  won't  come  any  other  way —  So  I 
suppose  I'll  have  to ! "  She  was  silent  a  minute.  .  .  . 
Then  her  eyes  twinkled. 

"He's  going  to  get  an  awful  bump!"  she  said 
softly. 


XXXIX 

THE  maid  appeared  in  the  doorway.    "A  gentle- 
man to  see  you,  Miss  Braithwaite,  in  the  drawing- 


room." 


"A  gentleman?"  Her  brow  contracted  a  little 
with  the  near-sighted  look  of  inquiry.  "Did  he  give 
his  name?" 

"No,  Miss.  He  only  asked  could  he  see  you  a  few 
minutes." 

Ellen  Braithwaite  moved  reluctantly  to  the  door 
and  down  the  hall.  .  .  .  She  was  annoyed  with 
the  stranger  who  had  not  sent  in  a  name,  and  an- 
noyed with  the  maid  who  neglected  to  ask  for  it. 

The  short  stout  man  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
door  gazing  at  a  portrait  on  the  opposite  wall  was 
absorbed  in  it. 

She  peered  at  the  figure  uncertainly. 

It  wheeled  about  and  came  toward  her. 

"Oh—  Mr.  Berwick!  It's  you!"  She  smiled 
and  held  out  her  hand.  "I  was  thinking  of  you— 
only  a  little  while  ago." 

"Your  father  well?"  asked  John  Berwick  with 
punctilious  courtesy. 

"Very  well!"  she  replied.  "Will  you  come  into 
the  library?  I  will  call  my  father." 

But  John  Berwick  waved  it  aside  hastily. 

"I  came  to  see  you." 

272 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  273 

"On  business,"  he  added  after  a  stately  moment. 

She  sat  down  and  lifted  her  puzzled  glance  to  him. 
The  near-sighted  gaze  seemed  to  disconcert  him  a 
little.  He  moved  away  a  few  steps  and  came  back. 

"I  want  to  ask  your  hand  in  marriage,"  he  said 
abruptly. 

Her  lips  parted.    Astonishment  was  hi  her  eyes. 

"Are  you  asking  me — to  marry  you?"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"No !—  I'm  asking  for  my  son  to  marry  you !" 
It  came  explosively. 

"Oh!"    She  accepted  it  and  sat  bewildered. 

"You  know  I  am  rich !"  he  said  succinctly. 

"I — have  heard  so." 

"I'm  richer  than  youVe  heard,"  he  replied. 
' '  Richer  than  many  people  know.  I  have  money  and 
power.  I  want  my  son  to  marry  a  woman  that  knows 
what  to  do  with  money  and  power." 

"  You  are  the  woman ! "  he  said  solemnly.  It  was 
as  if  as  the  representative  of  a  princely  house  he  pre- 
sented a  royal  alliance  for  her  consideration. 

The  glimmer  of  amusement  in  her  face  held  itself. 
She  looked  at  him  vaguely. 

She  saw  the  man  short,  inclined  to  stoutness,  but 
with  a  dignity  that  comes  from  unconsciousness  and 
devotion  to  something  greater  than  himself. 

Two  things  in  life  were  sacred  to  John  Berwick — 
his  money  and  his  son.  He  laid  them  both  at  her  feet 
and  waited  her  decision. 

She  studied  the  rug.  She  might  have  been  con- 
sidering the  proposal  laid  there  at  her  feet  by  John 


274  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

Berwick.  .  .  .  She  might  have  been  seeing  some- 
thing quite  different  from  what  he  proposed.  Her 
face  was  inscrutable. 

He  moved  a  little  nearer  to  her. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  think  there  are  difficulties 
that  I  don't  know  about  maybe,  and  can't  straighten 
out  for  you.  You  can  trust  me  to  do  whatever  you 
want  done  to  make  you  happy. ' '  He  spoke  with  sim- 
plicity and  quiet  courage. 

"Your  father  has  fought  me  pretty  steadily,"  he 
went  on.  "But  I  don't  bear  him  any  grudge.  Why 
shouldn't  we  join  forces.  You're  above  little  things 
like  that." 

She  raised  her  eyes. 

"You're  a  queen!"  said  John  Berwick.  She 
stared 

"And  your  son !"  she  asked.  "Does  he  want  to 
marry  me?  Does  he  know  you  have  come  to  me?" 

"He  knows  what  I  want — what  I  think  of  you," 
he  replied  stoutly. 

She  waited  a  minute. 

"I  cannot  give  you  an  answer  to-night.  You 
have  surprised  me,  you  know." 

"I  did  not  expect  an  answer  to-night.  I  only 
want  you  to  consider  it — and  say  you  will  not  refuse 
to  let  John  speak  to  you." 

"I  certainly  shall  not  refuse — unless  I  see  it  would 
be  futile.  I  must  think."  She  rose  and  gave  him  her 
hand — as  if  she  received  and  dismissed  an  embassy. 

He  bowed  himself  over  it.    He  did  not  lift  it  to 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  275 

his  lips.  But  the  respect  in  the  gesture  conveyed 
that  he  would  serve  her  with  his  life — in  any  way  she 
might  choose  to  command. 

He  went  from  the  room. 

Her  eyes  followed  the  pudgy  absurd  figure  with  a 
little  inscrutable  smile — the  smile  in  John  Junior's 
doset  turned  with  its  face  to  the  wall. 

The  smile  was  still  on  her  lips  when  she  entered 
the  library  and  passed  on  to  the  piano  in  the  next 
room  and  sat  down.  She  played  for  half  an  hour 
weaving  dreams  and  dissolving  them  under  her 
finger-tips. 

John  Berwick  rolling  swiftly  toward  Hanover 
sat  erect,  a  hand  on  either  knee.  Now  and  then  he 
glanced  from  the  window  of  the  car.  His  face  was 
absorbed. 

He  was  seeing  a  woman — her  reddish  hair  gathered 
high  and  the  little  vague  inscrutable  smile  on  her  lips 
sitting  before  him,  listening.  ...  He  was  stirred  to 
his  depths —  The  woman  and  his  money  seemed 
interwoven.  They  belonged  together —  One  could 
not  think  of  them  apart. 

John  Junior  must  get  over  this  nonsense  about 
Isabel ! 

The  girl  had  done  for  herself — deserting  him  this 
way  when  he  needed  her  most.  .  .  .  His  glance 
tightened.  He  was  done  with  Isabel.  The  sooner 
John  Junior  understood,  the  sooner  he  came  to  his 
senses — the  better  for  him — and  for  everybody !  The 


276 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 


woman's  smile  followed  him  along  the  smooth  rolling 
road.  .  .  . 

It  set  his  pulses  beating. 

What  a  woman ! — for  John  Juniop. 


XL 

ISABEL,  left  alone  on  the  tennis-field,  lingered  a 
little.  It  was  supper-time  and  she  would  be  late  if 
she  did  not  hurry.  But  she  was  looking  at  the 
house  in  the  lot  adjoining  the  tennis  courts.  Pres- 
ently she  crossed  the  street  and  asked  for  the  key. 

It  was  a  large  old-fashioned  house  dating  back 
to  the  early  history  of  the  town.  The  heirs  who 
owned  it  held  it  for  sale.  They  were  not  willing  to 
rent  and  it  had  stood  vacant  for  several  years.  It 
was  badly  out  of  repair,  Isabel  knew,  but  she  knew 
that  it  belonged  to  the  time  of  strong  timbers  and 
honest  workmanship.  It  was  just  the  place  for  the 
laundry.  .  .  .  She  had  been  turning  it  in  her  mind 
as  the  tennis  game  went  on. 

She  inserted  the  key  and  the  creaking  door  swung 
back  into  the  old  hall. 

She  stepped  in,  turning  to  a  big  room  on  the 
right.  .  .  .  The  late  light  coming  through  the  dusty 
cobwebbed  windows  made  her  strangely  happy.  She 
wanted  to  sing  as  she  went  through  the  bare  echoing 
rooms.  .  .  .  She  could  see  the  girls  coming  and 
going — the  smell  of  clean  suds  in  the  air,  clothes 
swinging  on  the  lines  outside — all  the  deadness  of 
the  house  coming  alive. 

In  the  hall  upstairs  she  paused.  A  thought  danced 
to  her  through  an  open  door.  She  went  on  to  the 

next  room  and  looked  in 

277 


278  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

Fannie  and  Samuel  Hodgkins !  She  laughed  out. 
All  the  little  bare  echoes  caught  it  and  sent  it  hurry- 
ing through  the  doors  ajar  into  silent  rooms.  .  .  . 
She  drew  a  quick  sigh — almost  of  envy. 

Ten  minutes  later  she  had  returned  the  key  and 
was  walking  swiftly  toward  home,  watching  the 
plan  grow  and  shape  in  her  mind 

A  car  came  silently  behind  her.  It  stopped  and 
Ellen  Braithwaite  leaned  out. 

"You're  coming  home  with  me,  Isabel!"  she 
called. 

She  glanced  at  the  girl's  face  as  she  got  in — at  the 
intent  look  of  absorption  in  it 

"Tired?"  she  asked.    Isabel  shook  her  head. 

"Just  thinking,"  she  said.  "It's  been  a  wonder- 
ful day!" 

"Wonderful!"  assented  Ellen.  "You're  going 
home  with  me,  you  know —  I've  told  your  mother." 

"Yes — I  want  to  go.  I've  been  wanting  to  see 
you  for  days." 

They  did  not  speak  again.  The  smooth-rolling 
car,  the  soft  late  light,  the  glow  in  the  sky  and  the 
sense  of  friendliness  and  love  filled  Isabel  with  con- 
tent. 

It  seemed  to  her  now  that  she  had  been  moving 
toward  this  moment  all  her  life.  .  .  .  The  child  in 
the  rain-coat,  with  the  rainbow  overhead,  was  run- 
ning to  meet  it.  The  dyed  silk  dress  danced  her 
toward  it.  Ellen  Braithwaite's  love  gave  her  cour- 
age for  it.  And  after  all  it  was  only — doing  washing ! 

She  laughed  out. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  279 

Ellen  turned  a  slow  smile. 

"Well?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Isabel.    "Just  thinking." 

When  they  reached  the  house  she  went  through  the 
.hall  to  the  terrace.  The  sky  behind  the  greenhouses 
was  flushed  a  pale  rose.  The  twilight  had  a  sense  of 
waiting. 

She  looked  about  the  terrace  garden  with  a  wist- 
ful glance.  .  .  .  This  place  was  home  to  her — one 
home.  There  was  not  a  flower  in  the  beds  that  she 
did  not  know  and  love.  She  and  Ellen  had  weeded 
and  dug  and  transplanted  for  hours  at  a  time  and 
they  had  sat  with  earth-covered  hands  laughing  and 
talking.  At  night  they  had  walked  here  in  the  moon- 
light. The  garden  was  home  to  her  as  the  house  was 
home.  The  books  in  the  library — Ellen's  music 
stealing  through  her  while  she  read.  .  .  . 

Isabel  smiled  gently — looking  at  the  dark  shim- 
mering green  behind  the  walls  of  glass.  She  was 
thinking  of  her  suspicions  of  Eben  Braithwaite.  .  .  . 
It  was  all  so  different  when  you  came  to  know  people 
and  understand  them  a  little.  .  .  . 

A  step  sounded  on  the  gravel.  She  turned.  He 
was  coming  toward  her  along  the  path.  He  put  out 
a  hand. 

"  Glad  to  see  you ! "  he  said  smiling.  He  held  the 
hand  a  minute.  ' '  Nell  here  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  She  went  to  her  room."  She  withdrew 
her  hand.  She  stood  looking  up  at  him  contentedly. 

"Have  you  seen  the  larkspurs?  They're  just 
coming  out!"  He  led  the  way  along  the  terrace. 


280  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

They  passed  out  of  sight  of  the  windows.  He 
stooped  quickly  and  looked  down  at  her. 

"I  was  hoping  you  would  come !"  he  said  swiftly. 
Something  in  the  tone  startled  her  and  she  looked 
up — and  then  away. 

"It's  all  different  when  you're  here,"  he  went  on. 
"  The  very  flowers  are  different — !  Don't  you  see- 
Look  at  those  fox-gloves!"  She  lifted  a  swift 
glance.  He  laughed  happily. 

"That's  right,  Bel!  Keep  looking —  How  sweet 
your  eyes  are ! "  He  moved  a  step. 

She  was  very  stilL  The  sky  had  flushed  a  deeper 
rose.  The  twilight  was  passing  into  rich  dusk. 

He  took  her  hand  gently. 

"You  know,  Bel —  I  want  you !  You  must  stay 
here  with  me —  Stay  with  the  flowers  I  Will  you  ? ' ' 
He  bent  to  her.  She  was  moving  back  a  step,  looking 
at  him  curiously. 

"I  don't  love  you — do  I?"  she  breathed. 

"Well—  I"  He  laughed  out  "That's  what  I'm 
asking  you ! " 

She  waited  a  perplexed  minute. 

"Isabel !"  he  murmured, 

"No !"  She  said  it  with  decision.  She  shook  her 
head. 

"I  don't  love  you.  But  something  so  curious — 
happened  to  me.  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  ...  I 
think  it  is  because  you  surprised  me."  She  looked  at 
him. 

"You're  a  witch,  Bel!    That's  what  I  meant  to 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  281 

do — but  I  didn't  mean  you  to  know  it!"  He 
laughed,  a  little  chagrined. 

She  smiled.  "It  doesn't  matter,  does  it.  I 
don't  love  you,  you  see,"  she  said  tranquilly.  .  .  „ 
"I  used  to  dislike  you !"  She  raised  her  glance. 

"I  know — the  night  I  came  to  Berwick's  for  the 
scarf." 

"Yes — and  after  that.  But  I  don't  any  more. 
.  .  .  I'm  fond  of  you." 

His  eyes  were  regarding  her  keenly. 

"I'm  fond  of  everything  here!"  she  went  on. 
"It  is  home."  She  looked  at  the  fox-gloves  and  the 
larkspur,  mysterious  in  the  dim  light.  "It  is  all  so 
beautiful !"  she  said  softly. 

The  perplexity  that  had  left  her  face  seemed  to 
pass  to  his 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  were  saying '  no '  to  me ! " 

"Perhaps  I  am.    I  can't  tell.    I  must  wait.  .  .  . 

"But  not  too  long !"  he  said  quickly. 

"I  can  make  you  happy,  Bel.  .  .  .  And  you  can 
make  me — anything  you  will !"  A  deeper  note  was 
in  his  voice.  "I  did  not  know — till  you  came.  I 
want  things  I  have  not  wanted  before  in  all  my  life. 
Don't  leave  me!"  He  had  taken  her  hand.  She 
withdrew  it  quietly  after  a  minute. 

"I  must  wait,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  it  troubles  you  ?  I  can  teach  you  to  love 
me.  I  know  I  can !  You  shall  have  everything  you 
want!" 

She  looked  up  at  him.  ...    "I  wonder  if  you 


282  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

could — give  it  to  me — I  wonder?"  She  said  it 
musingly. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ?  I've  never  worked  in  my 
life.  But  1*11  work  now — to  give  it  to  you.  What 
is  it?" 

"People,"  she  said  quietly. 

He  stared. 

"  Everybody ! "  she  nodded.  "  I  feel  as  if  my  heart 
were  breaking — cracking  all  to  pieces!"  She 
laughed.  But  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  "I 
want  them —  Oh,  I  want  the  whole  world !"  She 
held  out  her  hands. 

He  seized  them. 

"You  shall  have  it !"  he  murmured.  "You  shall 
have  everything — people — money " 

She  drew  back.  "No,  no!  You  don't  under- 
stand !  I  don't  understand  myself.  But  it  follows 
me — trying  to  tell  me.  .  .  .  And  it  seems  so 
silly !" 

"What  is  silly?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  can't  tell  you.  ...  I 
don't  know — myself !" 

She  looked  back  along  the  path.  "We  must  go 
in  to  dinner,"  she  said  practically.  "Ellen  will  be 
waiting  and  I'm  not  ready." 

He  reached  a  hand  to  her.    "Child !"  he  said. 

She  lifted  her  face  and  he  took  it  in  his  hands. 

"There  isn't  any  one  else?"  he  asked. 

Tears  swept  across  the  eyes  and  blinded  them 

"Nobody—"  she  said.     "Just  the  whole  world !" 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  283 

A  tremulous  smile  touched  her  lip  and  she  turned 
away 

"That's  all!"  she  said  quietly.  "Just  the  whole 
world—  That's  all  I  want  i " 


XLI 

AFTER  dinner  Eben  Braithwaite  withdrew.  He 
had  letters  to  write,  he  said.  Isabel  with  her  eyes 
on  the  fire  dreamed  a  little.  Ellen  in  the  room 
beyond  was  playing  gently  and  the  music  filled  the 
fire-lit  room.  It  fitted  into  the  girl's  mood.  .  .  . 
She  could  he  happy  here,  to  live  like  this  always— 
and  she  could  make  them  happy. 

The  strangeness  of  Eben  Braithwaite's  love  was 
still  with  her.  It  filled  her  with  wonder,  and  a  curi- 
ous happiness  stirred  in  her.  .  .  .  She  had  never 
thought  about  love.  It  always  seemed  to  be  for 
other  girls — not  for  her.  If  she  wanted  love  she 
scarcely  knew  it.  But  Eben  Braithwaite's  words 
woke  something  vaguely  in  her.  .  .  .  She  had  seen 
far  back  in  his  eyes  while  he  spoke — and  it  was  not 
the  man  of  the  world  offering  to  protect  her  and  care 
for  her — but  a  man  who  needed  her.  .  .  .  And  there 
was  no  one  else.  .  .  .  Her  cheek  rested  on  her 
hand  and  she  stared  into  the  fire.  It  seemed  strange 
there  should  be  no  one  else.  ...  A  question  sped 
across  it —  She  stared  at  it  and  put  it  away  sharply. 
No,  of  course  there  was  no  one  else.  .  .  .  Fannie's 
face  tremulous  and  laughing  flitted  through  the  rooms 
of  the  old  house.  .  .  .  Isabel  stirred  a  little. 

Eben  Braithwaite  was  an  old  man — as  youth 
counts  time.  But  he  would  be  kind  to  her — she  saw 
it  with  clear  dispassionate  eyes.  There  would  be 

284 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  285 

money  to  carry  out  the  plans  that  filled  her  with 
happiness. 

She  knew  his  unfailing  courtesy  and  gentleness 
and  Ellen's  love  for  him.  In  business,  perhaps,  he 
was  shrewd  and  unscrupulous — but  so  was  John 
Senior.  She  smiled  a  little  ruefully.  She  had  for- 
gotten John  Senior's  wrath.  .  .  .  She  sighed  and 
mused  again  looking  into  the  fire.  .  .  . 

No—  There  was  no  one  else — and  Eben  Braith- 
waite  could  give  her  money  for  the  dreams,  comforts 
for  her  mother — money  to  help  Jim —  The  fire- 
light danced  on  it.  ...  There  would  be  children  of 
her  own  to  love —  She  stirred  impatiently.  She 
stood  up.  She  did  not  want  children —  Eben 
Braithwaite's  children.  She  wanted  the  world ! 
She  stretched  out  her  hands  vaguely.  Her  face 
lighted  to  it.  ...  Comradeship — life  swayed  her — 
men  and  women  and  comradeship  shaping  the  world ! 
She  stood  with  head  lifted,  gazing  at  it  across  the 
dim  room,  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

The  music  ceased.  Ellen  Braithwaite  was  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway  looking  at  her  curiously.  She 
came  across. 

"I  knew  you  had  stopped  listening,"  she  said. 
"So  I  stopped  playing.  I  can  always  tell  when  you 
listen — you  draw  the  music  out  of  me ! " 

She  was  still  looking  at  her  closely. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  child?" 

Isabel  smiled  at  her  wistfully. 

"Just  life." 

"Well,  stop  thinking  about  life  and  think  about 


286  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

me.  I  want  to  ask  you  something — I  want  to  go 
to  the  next  engine-house  dance.  May  I?" 

"You  may  not!"  said  Isabel  firmly.  "I've  told 
you —  You  don't  belong ! " 

"  I'll  make  myself  belong !    Try  me ! " 

"You  can't.  You're  different!"  She  looked  at 
her  slowly.  "You're  beautiful  and — you  are  dif- 
ferent," she  said.  "Everything  would  be  wrong  if 
you  were  there.  We  all  swing  together.  It's  like 
music " 

"I'm  a  discord?" 

"You're  different,"  repeated  Isabel. 

"Yes,  I'm  an  idle-rich,  I  suppose,  and  there's  no 
place  for  me."  Isabel's  face  lighted. 

"That's  it  exactly!  .  .  .  You're  a  great  beauti- 
ful striped  thing  with  gauzy  wings.  You  don't  be- 
long hi  the  hive " 

"I'd  set  them  buzzing!  .  .  .  You're  afraid. 
You  think  they  would  sting  me." 

"No — only  buzz.  The  music  would  stop — and 
go  wrong.  You  can't  cornel"  She  said  it  regret- 
fully and  firmly. 

"Bel!  I  should  like  to  shake  you!"  Isabel 
held  out  her  hand. 

"  Shake ! "    She  said  laughing. 

But  Ellen  Braithwaite  only  took  the  hand  in  both 
hers  and  held  it  a  minute.  She  was  looking  into  the 
fire.  Presently  she  lifted  the  hand  and  laid  it  against 
her  cheek. 

"I've  got  to  find  some  work,"  she  said.  "I  can't 
be  shut  out!" 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  287 

i 

Isabel  withdrew  her  hand  and  rested  it  on  the  man- 
tel. Her  face  was  dancing  in  the  firelight. 

"Why  not  come  into  my  laundry,"  she  said. 

"  Your — laundry  ! ' '    Isabel  nodded. 

"Didn't  you  say  you  can't  get  a  pillow-case  or 
sheet  decently  done  up — and  they  ruined  your  linen 
dress !" 

"They  did!"  murmured  Ellen.  She  was  staring 
at  her  puzzled. 

She  nodded  again.  "  I'm  going  to  change  all  that. 
I'm  going  to  start  a  laundry — a  good  one.  And  you 
may  work  in  it  if  you  are  very  good!"  She  was 
smiling  at  her  whimsically. 

"  Sit  down ! "  said  Ellen.    "  Talk  sense ! " 

The  plan  unfolded  and  she  listened  with  short- 
sighted quizzical  smile.  .  .  .  The  details  had  shaped 
themselves  in  Isabel's  mind.  She  laid  them  before 
her — tubs  and  boilers  and  wringers  to  be  borrowed 
or  rented  from  the  families  who  would  not  need  them 
any  longer  when  the  washing  was  done  outside. 
Clothes-pins,  starch,  bluing,  wire  for  lines,  and  one 
washing-machine  to  be  bought.  It  would  need  little 
money.  They  would  share  expenses  and  profits 
and  put  aside  a  fund  for  new  equipment.  The  future 
was  left  to  develop  itself. 

"We  shall  learn  as  we  go,"  said  Isabel. 

"I  should  think  so !"  breathed  Ellen  Braithwaite. 
"It's  a  magnificent  dream  of  suds — bubbles  in  the 
air.  They'll  shimmer  and  vanish.  You'll  run 
amuck!" 

"No.    Wait  and  see!" 


288  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"I  shall  not  wait —  I'm  going  in  with  you  to 
help  keep  you  from  it !  We'll  have  to  have  a  wagon 
to  collect  and  deliver —  I'll  run  our  old  motor- 
truck— drive  it  myself ! "  She  laughed  out.  "  What 
fun!" 

A  thought  crossed  her  face.  "I  shall  collect  the 
money  at  the  same  tune,"  she  said  severely.  "Do 
you  make  me  treasurer?" 

"Of  course,"  responded  Isabel.  "Anything  you 
like." 

"It's  done.  .  .  .    And  I  can  go  to  the  dances !" 

"Well — after  a  week  or  two  perhaps." 

Ellen  Braithwaite  sat  back  smiling  happily  and 
gazing  into  the  fire. 

"How  did  you  come  to  think  of  it?"  she  asked. 

"Mother  got  rheumatism.  The  washing  was  too 
hard  for  her.  Then  I  saw  it  was  too  hard  for  all  the 
mothers.  And  old  Mrs.  Atkins  just  tottering  from 
house  to  house.  ...  It  seemed  foolish  that  we 
couldn't  get  our  clothes  washed  decently.  Even 
when  we  had  money  to  pay  for  it  we  couldn't  hire 
any  one  to  do  it  for  us. 

"At  first  I  thought  of  three  or  four  combining  and 
getting  some  one  from  outside — importing  a  wash- 
lady!  And  then  the  thing  grew  and  it  grew,  like 
Mr.  Finney's  turnip !  I  don't  believe  it  will  ever 
stop  growing  now.  Every  tune  I  peek  into  it  there's 
something  new  sprouting  up — a  flat-iron  or  a  clothes- 
line!" 

"So  you  did  it  just — to  save  your  mother?" 

"I  thought  so  when  I  began.  .  .  .    But  now  it 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  289 

seems  to  me  that  the  whole  thing  must  have  been 
down  in  my  mind  somewhere  a  long  time — only  I 
didn't  know  it  was  there.  I  had  to  have  some  kind 
of  starter — to  get  at  it.  ...  You  see  it  isn't  just 
the  washing —  It  is  really  the  chance  for  all  of  us  to 
get  together — do  work  together,  that  makes  me  so 
happy." 

"How  many  are  there  of  you?" 

"Six  at  first — including  you !" 

Ellen  Braithwaite  smiled  and  patted  the  hand 
resting  on  the  arm  of  the  chair. 

"That's  right —  Including  me!"  she  said  hap- 
pily. "But  you  don't  have  to  take  in  washing  to 
work  together.  You  work  together  now,  all  of  you 
at  the  mill." 

Isabel  stirred.  "No !  At  the  mill  we  don't  work 
together — we  work  for  John  Senior." 

"You  mean  he  takes  the  money?" 

"It  isn't  the  money!  I  don't  care  about  the 
money — though  of  course  we  can  use  it . "  She  gave  a 
dry  smile. 

"Yes,  people  do,"  assented  Ellen. 

"But  in  the  mill  we  don't  work  with  each  other. 
Each  one  does  her  own  work  and  she  does  it  for  John 
Senior.  In  the  office  I  work  for  him  and  Fannie 
works  for  him.  Even  Fannie  and  I  don't  work  to- 
gether." 

"You  are  jealous  of  Fannie —    She's  jealous !" 

"No.  Not  that.  We're  good  friends —  At  least 
we  are  now  !"  A  thoughtful  smile  touched  her  face. 

"Fannie's  going  in  with  us." 


290  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"That's  good!" 

"We  are  good  friends,"  she  went  on,  "and  the  girls 
in  the  work-room  are  good  friends.  But  we  all  work 
like  separate  sticks."  She  pondered  it.  "I  know 
what  I  mean,  because  I  feel  it  when  I  am  with  the 
others." 

"  It  is  as  if  a  big  spirit — bigger  than  all  of  us — came 
in  and  took  possession  and  did  things.  Nobody 
bosses,  nobody  seems  to  work  hard.  We  just  move 
together  like  one  big  being.  .  .  .  You  remember 
that  night  we  tried  lifting  each  other  up  on  our 
finger-tips — just  drew  in  our  breath  and  lifted, 
and  up  she  went — even  Sue  Gleason  and  she  weighs 
a  hundred  and  eighty!  .  .  .  I've  thought  maybe 
it's  something  like  that.  Perhaps  'when  two  or 
three  are  gathered  together  in  My  name'."  She 
looked  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"I  see!"  said  Ellen.  "How  did  you  get  the 
idea?" 

"It  isn't  an  idea.  I  just  feel  it — when  we're  to- 
gether. And  when  I'm  alone  I  keep  wanting  to  be 
with  the  others." 

"You  are  lonely  and  bored  when  you  are  by  your- 
self?" 

"No,  not  bored,"  she  said  quickly.  "There  are 
always  interesting  things  in  your  head  to  think  about 
and  things  to  do.  But  I'm  not — "  She  searched  for 
the  word,  " — not  myself,  not  comfortable.  I  feel  as 
if  my  body  wasn't  big  enough  to  hold  me — all  of  me 
that  keeps  swinging  up  through  me.  .  .  .  When 
I'm  with  the  others  I  am  bigger,  quieter,  happier — 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  291 

as  if  something  kept  flowing  out  of  me  into  them 
and  back  into  me  again.  As  if  we  were  all  one  big 
body.  ...  I  can't  explain  it  very  well,  because  I 
don't  understand,  but  it's  real — the  most  real  thing 
that's  ever  happened  to  me —  Sometimes  I'm 
afraid  of  it,  as  if  it  would  take  hold  of  me  and  make 
me  do  what  it  wanted — as  if  I  was  born  to  do  it  and 
couldn't  be  just  myself !"  She  stopped,  with  a  little 
catch  in  her  breath,  gazing  into  the  fire. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  patted  the  hand  lying  on  the 
arm  of  the  chair. 

"  You're  not  afraid !"  she  said  softly. 

They  turned.  There  was  a  sound  in  the  hall. 
Eben  Braithwaite  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  In  the  dark  still  ?  "  he  asked.  He  came  across  to 
them. 

"Not  in  the  dark  at  all!"  said  Ellen.  "Very 
much  in  the  light !  We  are  beginning  to  see  things 
— going  to  start  a  laundry.  We  solicit  your  patron- 
age." 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  smiling  and 
testing  it 

"Any  one  that  starts  a  decent  laundry  has  the 
blessing  of  heaven — and  the  whole  community!" 
he  said  fervently.  "Buttons!"  He  spread  his 
hands.  "  Silk  shirts — woollens ! " 

"You  really  mean  it?"  He  was  not  looking  at 
his  daughter  but  at  the  girl  beside  her.  Her  face 
flushed. 

"Yes — we  mean  it.  ...  We  want  to  do  some- 
thing worth  while." 


292  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"  Then  I'm  with  you,"  he  said.  He  saw  his  chance 
and  took  it. 

"  Tell  me  about  it ! "  He  sat  down.  He  drew  out 
a  cigar—  "  May  I  smoke  ?  " 

He  lighted  it  and  cast  the  match  at  the  fire 

"You  will  want  money,"  he  said  practically. 
" How  much?" 

Isabel  told  him  of  the  old  house  and  her  tentative 
plan.  They  threshed  it  out  point  by  point. 

"It  will  be  simple,"  he  said.  "The  First  National 
will  take  a  mortgage  on  the  house  for  two-thirds 
value — and  then  you  can  have  a  second  mortgage 
secured  by  your  personal  note.  You  will  have  to 
have  it  undersigned  by  two  responsible  parties.  I'll 
be  one  of  those —  And  the  other —  Why  not  have 
your  father?"  he  asked. 

A  quick  still  glow  was  in  her  face. 

"Would  they  take  him?" 

"He's  doing  a  good  business,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes." 

He  nodded.  "  That's  all  right !  I'll  attend  to  the 
details  if  you  like."  He  blew  a  whiff  of  smoke  and 
puffed  it  away.  She  was  silent,  watching  dreams  in 
the  fire.  Eben  Braithwaite  regarded  her  keenly  a 
moment.  "I  believe  you'll  put  it  through,"  he  said 
slowly.  "You  have  a  good  head  for  business !" 

Isabel  roused  from  her  dreams,  smiled — "John 
Senior  says  that  too."  The  smile  clouded.  John 
Senior's  wrath  recurred.  Even  in  her  pleasure  it 
hurt  a  little. 

"He's  terribly  offended,"  she  said. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  293 

"He  knows — that  you've  left  him?"  said  Braith- 
waite. 

She  nodded. 

•'Who's  going  to  take  your  place?"  There  was 
keenness  in  the  question. 

"I  don't  know.  Fannie's  going  too.  There's 
a  man  she  knows — from  the  Commercial  School — he 
may  come." 

"Has  Berwick  engaged  him?" 

" No."  Her  face  laughed.  " But  we  knew  he  had 
to  have  some  one  good.  So  we  tried  to  plan  for  him. 
He'll  ask  at  the  Commercial  School  and  they'll  prob- 
ably recommend  this  man — Hodgkins  his  name  is." 

"I  see."    His  face  remained  thoughtful. 

"  I'm  going  to  deliver,  you  know,"  said  Ellen.  "  Is 
the  old  mo  tor- truck  fit  to  use?"  He  turned  to  her 
vaguely. 

"Oh —  What?  No."  He  seemed  to  wake  from 
a  puzzle. 

"I'll  have  it  looked  after  to-morrow.  But  I  can't 
spare  you,  Nell — not  just  now.  I  want  you." 

"What  for?" 

"Business,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  Can't  Carter  do  it  ?  "  she  pleaded.  "  I  don't  want 
to  miss  the  fun.  And  there  are  a  dozen  families — 
right  here  in  Camden  to  get  to-morrow !" 

"I  can't  spare  you,"  he  said  decisively.  "Carter 
has  to  be  away — a  few  days — a  month  perhaps. 
There's  no  one  else  I  can  trust.  You'll  have  to  help 
out.  It's  important,  you  know."  He  looked  at  her 
significantly  and  she  returned  the  look  a  minute. 


294  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"Very  well,"  she  assented.    She  sighed  a  little. 

He  got  up.  "  I  have  some  letters  to  finish.  I  ran 
away  for  a  breath." 

At  the  door  he  turned  back.  "  I'll  hurry  and  finish 
and  then  you  play  a  while  for  us — will  you  ?  " 

She  nodded  absently. 

He  disappeared  and  her  eyes  followed  him  reflec- 
tively. 

"I'll  have  to  do  it,"  she  said  with  a  sigh.  "Car- 
ter's indispensable — and  there's  no  one  else.  But 
when  he  comes  back ! " 

"Don't  you  let  anybody  take  my  place,"  she 
warned. 

"Nobody  could  take  your  place,"  laughed  Isabel. 
"You're  like  Carter — you're  indispensable."  Then 
her  face  clouded  with  a  sigh. 

She,  too,  had  been  indispensable —  She  did  not 
like  to  think  of  John  Senior  wrestling  and  swearing 
alone. 


XLH 

THE  beginning  of  the  Hanover  Laundry  marked 
a  new  era.  They  used  it  to  reckon  time  by. 

Even  families  too  poor  to  hire  washing  done 
availed  themselves  of  chronology.  And  "that  was 
before  we  had  the  Laundry"  became  as  "that  was 
before  the  flood." 

Tubs,  wringers,  and  flat-irons  came  showering  in 
on  it-  They  had  only  to  choose  out  of  the  abundance 
thrust  upon  them.  Details  of  the  purchase  of  the 
house  had  been  put  through  quickly  and  Aaron  Mer- 
ton  had  undersigned  the  note  securing  the  second 
mortgage.  That  was  perhaps  the  proudest  moment 
hi  Isabel's  life — when  she  signed  the  note  and 
watched  the  signatures  of  Aaron  Merton  and  Eben 
Braithwaite  being  written  below  it. 

She  was  learning  to  depend  on  Eben  Braithwaite. 
...  A  younger  man  would  not  have  understood 
and  provided  for  her  freedom  as  he  did.  A  young 
man  would  not  have  been  wise  enough  or  shrewd 
enough.  ...  He  gave  her  a  sense  of  security  and 
more  and  more  she  turned  to  him  for  sympathy  and 
help. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  was  not  yet  free  to  work  with 
them.  But  her  father  could  be  depended  on  for 
practical  advice  and  for  help  at  every  point. 

Only  one  lack  hindered  the  completion  of  ar- 

295 


296  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

rangements  and  beginning  work.  The  old  house 
must  be  thoroughly  renovated,  the  back-yard 
equipped  with  posts  and  lines  and  the  place  put  in 
order. 

There  was  no  one  but  Silas  Atkins  to  do  the  car- 
penter work  for  wash-benches  and  the  digging  of 
post-holes  and  stretching  wire  for  lines.  Silas  was 
slow  and  old. 

Isabel  figured  that  snow  would  be  flying  before  the 
first  clothes  were  hung  on  the  lines  of  the  Hanover 
Laundry. 

A  meeting  was  held  to  consider  whether  they 
should  hire  men  from  Camden  to  do  the  work,  as 
Eben  Braithwaite  advised. 

"Herbert  says  if  we'll  go  ahead  and  get  things 
ready,  they'll  all  come  Saturday  afternoon  and  put 
it  through,"  announced  Millie  Matoon. 

"How  many  of  them?"  asked  Isabel. 

"Everybody,"  replied  Millie.  "All  of  us  that's 
been  to  the  dances.  Herbert  says  it's  a  lark !  Only 
we'll  have  to  have  things  ready  for  them." 

Yes,  of  course.    We  have  the  posts  now  and  wire 
for  lines.  .  .  .    We'll  need  shovels  and  hoes  and 
nails,  wire-stretchers,  lime  for  whitewash,  brushes, 
pails,  mops,  scrubbing-brushes,  clothes-baskets- 
She  ran  off  the  items  on  her  fingers. 

They  made  out  the  list  rapidly.  Each  one  took 
responsibility  for  what  she  could  manage  best. 
The  meeting  was  carried  on  in  the  spirit  that  was  to 
characterize  the  whole  future  of  the  laundry. 

No  one  directed  or  gave  commands.    Together 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  297 

they  attacked  questions  and  reached  conclusions— 
by  the  same  process  apparently  that  an  individual 
follows  in  thinking  out  problems.  Butjthe  common 
mind  seemed  to  move  more  swiftly  than  any  indi- 
vidual, and  the  impulse  to  carry  out  decisions  seemed 
projected  by  the  force  of  the  whole  body.  There 
was  the  enthusiasm  and  swing  of  group  conscious- 
ness about  it. 

Isabel  working  with  them  knew  for  the  first  time 
the  full  joy  of  being  herself.  The  larger  self  played 
through  her.  The  unconscious  joy  of  dancing  seemed 
to  gather  itself  up  and  drive  through  to  a  purpose. 
They  were  alive. 

On  Saturday  the  old  house  hummed  to  it.  The 
paper  was  scraped  from  the  walls,  baskets  of  debris 
carried  out,  bonfires  made  on  the  old  garden,  post- 
holes  dug,  whitewash  and  kalsomine  prepared, 
wires  stretched,  floors  washed,  paint  scrubbed.  The 
whole  went  on  with  laughter  and  talk — and  an 
underrunning  plan  that  seemed  to  direct  the  work. 
.  .  .  Only  Isabel  moving  here  and  there  was  alive 
to  the  significance  of  what  was  happening  among 
them,  and  even  hi  her  it  was  submerged  hi  the  deep 
still  content  of  being  with  them  and  working  happily. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  who  had  brought  over  a  hamper 
for  supper  stood  a  moment  in  the  hall  looking  out 
through  the  door  at  the  rear  where  the  garden  was 
filled  with  workers. 

Down  the  stairs  murmuring  voices  drifted  to  her 
and  through  the  doors  on  either  side  she  caught 
glimpses  of  moving  figures.  The  place  was  alive. 


298  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

.  .  .  And  as  she  watched  it  happily  a  curious  fancy 
came  to  her —  In  and  out  through  the  changing 
movement  Isabel's  presence  seemed  to  pass.  .  .  . 
Isabel  was  "  the  life  of  the  place,"  she  thought.  And 
then  she  saw  that  it  was  true.  .  .  .  Isabel  was 
life! 

She  did  not  direct  or  guide  by  a  preconceived 
ready-made  plan.  She  flowed  through  like  the 
beating  of  a  pulse,  the  flashing  of  electric  force — and 
they  became  alive ! 

She  watched  Isabel  coming  toward  her.  She 
understood  dimly  for  the  first  time  the  light  that 
seemed  to  radiate  about  her. 

Isabel  paused  by  her  and  they  stood  looking  into 
the  yard. 

"You'll  stay?"  she  said.  "We're  almost 
through." 

Ellen  Braithwaite  shook  her  head.  "Not  to- 
night. I'm  just  beginning  to  see!  When  I  come 
I  shall  float  in  so  lightly  you'll  never  know  I'm  there ! 
I'll  be  a  thistle-down!" 

"You  always  are !"  laughed  Isabel. 

Through  the  door  they  saw  John  Junior,  his  hat 
and  coat  off,  lif t  a  heavy  post  and  drop  it  into  its 
hole.  A  dozen  shovels  and  feet  thrust  down  the 
earth  and  he  held  it  upright  while  they  pounded  it 
in  place.  He  drew  a  handkerchief  from  his  pocket 
and  wiped  his  forehead  hastily.  They  were  moving 
on  to  die  next  hole  and  he  stuffed  the  handkerchief 
in  his  pocket  and  hurried  after  them. 

"How  good  for  him !"  said  Ellen,  laughing. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  299 

But  Isabel  made  no  response.  Her  eyes  were  on 
the  moving  figure  as  if  she  saw  it  for  the  first  time 
and  wondered  a  little  at  something.  .  .  . 

"You  let  him  come!"  said  Ellen  jealously.  "He 
doesn't  'belong'  any  more  than  I  do.  He's  an  idle- 
rich,  but  you've  made  a  place  for  him !" 

"He  made  his  own  place,"  said  Isabel.  "I've 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  ...  Only — I'm  just  seeing 
it!  They  don't  even  know  he's  there,  do  they?" 
Her  face  glowed.  She  turned  again. 

Ellen  Braithwaite  watched  her  face  a  minute. 
She  smiled  subtly. 

"Did  you  know  John  Senior  asked  me  the  other 
night — to  marry  him?"  She  moved  a  hand. 

Isabel's  face  flashed  back. 

"To  marry —    John  Senior,"  she  gasped. 

"No—    Silly!  .  .  .    John  Senior's  son!" 

"Oh  .  .  .  !"  Said  Isabel.  She  looked  at  it— 
and  at  the  group.  John  Junior  was  again  mopping 
his  brow.  They  called  to  him  with  their  shovels  to 
hurry  up. 

"I  told  him  I'd  think  about  it.  .  .  ."went  on  Ellen 
watching  the  disheveled  figure.  "  Would  you  ?  " 

"Think  about  it?" 

"Marry  him?" 

"I'd  wait  till  he  asked  me,"  said  Isabel  decisively. 

"That's  what  I  told  him.  .  .  .  He's  a  nice  boy !" 
she  added  irrelevantly. 

Isabel  flitted  a  smile  to  her.  "He  is  older  than 
you  are!" 

"  Is  he  ?  "    It  was  indifferent.     She  stood  a  minute 


300  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

longer  looking  at  them,  a  little  perplexed  frown  be- 
tween her  eyes.  She  turned  away. 

"The  hamper  is  under  the  stairs,"  she  said.  "I'll 
come  for  it  to-morrow." 

She  passed  out  of  the  house.  Other  baskets  were 
coming  in.  The  mothers  had  prepared  supper  for 
hungry  men  and  girls. 

They  unpacked  the  baskets  on  the  table  in  the 
front  room  and  set  out  food. 

A  clean  smell  of  lime  and  suds  pervaded  the  house. 
Fires  were  burning  in  the  big  fireplaces.  Through 
the  windows  and  doors  the  voices  of  young  men  came 
in  happily.  They  were  putting  away  their  tools. 
.  .  .  The  mothers  left  the  supper  on  the  table 
and  withdrew.  Some  one  in  the  kitchen  was  making 
coffee.  The  young  men  at  the  sinks  were  washing 
hands  and  faces  and  drying  them  on  the  big  towel. 
The  girls  from  upstairs  floated  down.  They  had 
made  quick  toilets.  .  .  .  The  dusk  was  coming  on 
and  candles  were  placed  on  the  narrow  mantels  and 
on  tables  and  stands.  They  shone  faintly  on  the 
new  pulsing  life  in  the  old  house.  .  .  . 

After  supper  they  sat  about  the  fire  in  a  circle  on 
boxes  and  improvised  seats.  They  told  stories  and 
sang  and  talked.  .  .  .  drawn  together  in  the  feel- 
ing of  good-will  and  friendliness  and  coming  life. 

John  Junior  between  two  youths  he  had  never 
seen  until  to-day  had  a  happy  comfortable  sense  of 
being,  almost  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  at  home. 
He  had  never  felt  like  this  in  the  house  on  the  hill. 

He  glanced  across  at  Isabel.     She  was  looking 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  301 

into  the  fire.  She  seemed  unconscious  of  the  group 
about  her. 

She  looked  up  and  met  his  gaze.  A  quick  flush 
came  leaping,  like  a  flame  from  the  hearth,  and 
touched  her  face.  She  looked  away. 

John  Junior's  heart  went  thump !  and  stood  still. 
Then  it  bounded  forward.  It  raced  through  him. 

One  of  the  young  men  beside  him  threw  an  arm 
across  his  shoulders.  They  were  all  singing  to- 
gether. .  .  . 


XLIH 

THE  late  March  day  was  bleak,  with  a  hint  of  rain 
in  its  grayness.  But  inside  the  Braithwaite  house 
the  reluctant  spring  seemed  already  come.  A  fire 
burned  on  the  library  hearth  and  flowers  were  every- 
where, filling  the  rooms  with  light  and  fragrance. 
The  flame  shadows  flickered  beneath  chairs  and  tables 
and  leaped  along  the  walls  in  running  patterns  of 
warm  mystery. 

Isabel  in  front  of  the  fire  reached  her  feet  to  the 
warmth  and  rested  back  in  the  depths  of  the  big 
leather  chair.  She  gave  a  sigh  of  comfort.  It  had 
been  a  harsh  day — penetrating  chill,  and  tempers  on 
edge.  Even  in  the  swift  limousine  she  had  a  little 
shrinking  sense  of  the  cutting  wind  driving  past  the 
glass  sides  of  the  car. 

She  was  glad  to  slip  into  the  quiet  of  the  library 
and  rest  a  while  before  dressing  for  dinner.  She 
watched  the  shadows  contentedly  and  relaxed  to  the 
charm  of  the  room.  It  was  a  beautiful  room — filled 
with  the  personality  of  the  owner. 

Eben  Braithwaite  she  knew  had  chosen  the  furnish- 
ings and  arranged  the  room  to  the  smallest  detail. 
Even  hi  his  absence  something  of  his  presence  was 
there  in  the  room. 

There  was  generous  space  and  smooth  surfaces— 
And  where  the  smoothness  was  perhaps  a  little  hard 

302 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  303 

the  light  of  the  fire  gave  it  a  gracious  shining  glow. 

Not  for  a  moment  had  Eben  Braithwaite  made  her 
feel  the  urgency  of  his  suit.  Ten  months  had  slipped 
by  unnoticed  while  he  surrounded  her  with  comfort 
and  practical  advice  and  help.  .  .  . 

She  had  a  vague  feeling  of  guilt  sitting  in  front  of 
the  leaping  fire  surrounded  by  the  gracious  smooth- 
ness of  the  room.  She  knew  she  must  tell  him  .  .  . 
dozens  of  times  she  had  tried — but  he  put  her  off 
gently. 

"Wait  a  little,"  he  seemed  to  say.  "Don't  decide 
yet!" 

And  the  next  day  some  new  plan  for  her  happiness 
was  under  way.  ...  It  was  not  right  to  let  him  go 
on — since  she  knew  so  well ! 

She  could  no  longer  deceive  herself  that  there  was 
no  one  else.  Months  ago  she  gave  up  trying  to  hide 
it  from  herself,  puzzled  and  bewildered.  .  .  .  Why 
should  a  young  man,  disheveled  and  grimy,  hatless 
and  breathless,  become  to  her  suddenly  a  kind  of 
god — when  the  same  young  man  immaculately  clad 
was  only  a  foolish  youth  who  wrote  poetry — and  was 
comically  vain  about  it  ? 

She  had  looked  at  the  god,  disbelieving  and  stern — 
he  had  countless  faults — hundreds  of  them!  But 
over  them  all  the  godhood  cast  a  glamour. 

No  need  to  say  she  would  be  sensible  and  firm. 
...  It  was  not  a  thing  you  could  decide  that  way 
apparently !  She  stared  at  it. 

She  wondered  if  this  was  what  they  called  love. 
...  It  was  not  the  feeling  she  had  for  Eben  Braith- 


304  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

waite — of  that  she  was  sure.  That  was  comfortable 
and  secure  and  she  rested  in  it.  This  was  restless. 
It  made  her  very  curious  about  John.  It  kept  her 
wondering  about  him  constantly — for  John  had  given 
not  the  slightest  evidence  of  caring  for  her.  Unless 
working  in  the  dirt  with  grimy  hands  could  be  called 
evidence.  ...  It  was  that  that  had  been  her  un- 
doing— the  sudden  flashing  glimpse  and  suspicion 
that  he  was  doing  it  for  her  sake. 

And  after  that  she  could  not  rest.  Each  time  she 
saw  him  she  must  be  looking  for  glimpses — wonder- 
ing, ashamed — finally  even  determined  and  obstinate 
to  surprise  him  into  revealing  something. 

But  to-day  she  knew  as  little  as  ten  months  ago. 

John  Junior  went  his  way  smiling  and  assured. 
For  anything  she  knew  there  was  no  shining  god 
behind  the  curtain  of  his  good  manners.  ...  It 
might  be  only  a  dummy  god  she  had  imagined  for  a 
flashing  instant. 

She  only  wanted  to  be  sure — then  perhaps  the  un- 
rest would  cease.  Perhaps  if  she  knew  she  would 
not  care. 

She  gazed  into  the  fire  going  over  it.  ...  The 
laundry  had  prospered  beyond  expectation.  They 
had  enlarged  and  stretched  the  old  house  to  its  limit. 
They  must  have  more  room  and  more  help.  The 
possibilities  were  endless.  .  .  .  And — she  could 
only  keep  wondering  about  John  Junior. 

She  shook  herself.  She  would  go  and  dress  for 
dinner !  She  turned  a  little  in  her  chair.  From  the 
dim  room  she  could  see  into  the  lighted  hall. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  305 

Some  one  came  out  of  Eben  Braithwaite's  office 
and  passed  through  the  hall — a  young  man.  He 
stopped  and  turned  back.  .  .  .  The  two  figures 
halted  opposite  the  door  and  talked  a  minute  in  low 
tones.  Eben  Braithwaite  and ! 

Where  had  she  seen  the  younger  man  before  ?  She 
turned  it  idly  a  moment  and  dropped  it.  ...  Eben 
Braithwaite's  voice  came  to  her  from  the  hall 

"Send  it  to-night,  special  delivery —  We've  got 
him  where  we  want  him  this  tune!"  The  voice 
laughed. 

He  came  back  along  the  hall  past  the  open  door. 
But  he  did  not  glance  into  the  dimness  of  the  library. 
There  was  a  little  shrewd  smile  on  his  lips  as  he  went 
on  to  his  office  and  closed  the  door. 

Suddenly  the  girl  before  the  fire  sat  up — there  was 
an  intent  look  in  her  face — Gilbert  Carter ! 

And  Gilbert  Carter  was  John  Berwick's  new  secre- 
tary !  She  had  wondered  about  him  many  times — 
wondered  how  he  took  John  Senior's  roaring  and 
swearing !  She  had  only  seen  him  once — when  Ellen 
pointed  him  out  on  the  walk  as  they  drove  by. 

They  were  going  swiftly.  She  had  only  a  glimpse 
—but  she  was  not  likely  to  forget !  She  had  linked 
him  up  so  keenly  with  John  Senior.  It  had  not 
seemed  to  her  he  was  the  kind  of  young  man  John 
Senior  would  get  on  with —  His  face  was  thin  and 
sharp.  .  .  .  But  he  had  been  with  him  ten  months 
now.  Ellen  still  was  acting  as  her  father's  secretary ! 

She  got  up  and  moved  to  the  desk  and  wrote  a  note 
and  went  quickly  up  stairs.  No  one  would  stop  her. 


306  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

The  car  had  gone  to  the  station  for  Ellen.  She  must 
get  away  before  it  came  back.  .  .  .  She  pinned  the 
note  to  a  cushion  in  the  dressing-room  and  got 
quickly  into  her  coat  and  hat,  drawing  on  her  gloves 
as  she  hurried  down  the  stairs.  She  would  just  catch 
the  five-forty  if  she  ran. 

Half  a  mile  from  the  house  the  lamps  of  a  car 
flamed  on  the  distant  dark.  She  crowded  to  the  side 
of  the  road  holding  her  breath.  There  was  a  swift 
glimpse  of  Ellen's  face  against  the  darkness  and  the 
car  flashed  by.  She  caught  her  breath  quickly  and 
hurried  on.  The  air  was  growing  cold.  Spurting 
drops  of  rain  fell  before  she  reached  the  station. 

There  was  no  carriage  when  she  left  the  train  at 
Hanover.  She  looked  about  her  for  a  moment  and 
hesitated.  Then  she  took  the  road  to  the  hill.  .  .  . 
The  wind  roared  in  sweeping  gusts — rising  fast.  It 
caught  her  in  the  face  and  drove  past  her,  twisting 
the  long  coat  about  her  legs. 

After  the  first  gasp  she  tingled  with  keenness 
and  bent  her  face  to  it.  She  raced  on,  her  head  bent 
and  her  whole  body  delighting  in  the  struggle.  .  .  . 
She  had  been  shut  up,  suffocated  for  months  it  seemed 
to  her.  Now  in  this  whirligig  of  wind  she  was  free— 
And  there  was  something  she  could  do  for  John 
Senior. 

The  great  clouds  caught  the  wind  and  swirled 
and  marched  up  the  sky.  They  piled  in  great 
masses.  But  the  fury  of  the  storm  marshalled 
there  in  the  dark  above  her  did  not  break. 

The  deluge  hung.    Now  and  then  a  swift  drop 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  307 

spilled  over  and  stung  her.  She  laughed  under  her 
breath.  She  should  make  it.  And  what  did  a 
wetting  matter!  .  .  .  John  Senior's  wrath  might 
cool  itself  in  the  great  storm  of  wind  and  rain ! 

As  she  neared  the  house  the  drops  fell  fast.  They 
followed  her  up  the  driveway  in  a  splashing  fury  that 
left  her  breathless.  She  laughed  and  darted  up  the 
steps  and  turned  on  to  the  pillared  porch  facing  the 
storm.  It  drove  past  in  sheets.  The  lightning 
played  in  the  massing  clouds —  The  first  thunder- 
storm of  the  year.  Spring  was  in  the  thunder ! 

She  stood  a  minute  watching,  exulting  in  it. 
Then  she  turned  to  the  house.  The  windows  at  the 
left  of  the  door  were  brilliantly  lighted  and  in  the 
room  behind  two  men  faced  each  other  across  the 
dinner-table. 

She  stood  holding  her  breath.  It  seemed  that  it 
she  breathed  they  must  turn  and  see  her,  she  was  so 
close.  .  .  .  Yet  in  the  fury  of  the  storm  she  might 
have  stamped  and  cried  out  and  they  would  not  have 
heard. 

Once  when  the  roar  shook  the  house  John  Senior 
glanced  at  the  blank  window.  But  she  knew  that 
his  face  saw  nothing  beyond  the  darkness  of  the 
pane. 

She  watched  them  talking  in  pantomime.  John 
Senior's  lips  were  compressed  in  the  little  grim  line 
she  knew  so  well.  Instinctively  she  wondered  what 
troubled  John  Senior. 

The  other  face  was  smiling.  Her  eyes  sought  it 
again  and  again.  Her  hand  groped  to  the  bell  and 


308      fe  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

'  "  •»  . 

fell  back.  .  .  .  She  could  look  at  him  in  the  dark- 
ness. ,  There  was  no  one  to  see.  .  .  .  Yes —  The 
god  was  there  1  He  was  leaning  forward  speaking 
quick  sharp  words — eager  words  that  thrust  John 
Senior  aside. 
She  Uf ted  her  hand  to  the  bell  and  pressed  it. 

"A  lady  to  see  you,  sir — "  Milton  paused  dis- 
creetly and  coughed.  The  voices  were  very  loud. 

John  Berwick  wheeled  about. 

"What !" 

"A  lady,  sir —    Her  name  is  Merton,  she  said." 

John  Senior's  face  betrayed  nothing.  He  turned 
back  hi  his  chair.  The  nut-cracker  in  his  fingers 
closed  crunching  on  a  shell.  He  held  the  pieces 
in  his  hand. 

"  Show  her  into  the  library,"  he  said  gruffly. 

He  picked  a  little  at  the  crushed  nut. 

"What  does  she  want?"  he  asked  John  Junior. 
The  son  laughed  gently. 

"Do  you  think  7  know?" 

His  father  sent  a  keen  look. 

"No  reason,  I  suppose?" 

A  line  of  red  ran  across  the  young  man's  face. 
His  lip  trembled.  He  made  no  reply. 

His  father's  glance  fell. 

"Um-m !"  he  said  after  a  minute. 

The  young  man  was  watching  him  intently — as  if 
he  held  to  a  single  purpose. 

"You  see  Milton  called  her  a  'lady',"  he  said 
quietly. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  309 

"I  didn't  say  she's  not  a  lady — a  sort  of  lady," 
replied  John  Senior.  "  I  meant  she's  not  the  million- 
dollar  kind  of  lady — like  Ellen  Braithwaite.  There's 
a  lady  for  you ! "  The  enthusiasm  in  his  voice  was 
almost  reverent.  The  son  leaned  forward.  His 
eyes  were  filled  with  humorous  affection 

"Why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself,  dad?"  he 
said  softly. 

John  Senior  stared.  He  laid  down  his  napkin  and 
got  up. 

"Humph!"  he  said. 

Then,  as  he  neared  the  door 

"Don't  be  a  fool !"  he  said  over  his  shoulder. 


XLIV 

ISABEL  MERTON  looked  up. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  John  Senior.  His  hands  were  thrust 
in  his  pockets. 

She  stood  with  a  little  flush, 

"I  know  you  are  angry  with  me." 

"What  have  you  come  about?"  he  growled. 
"  What's  John  been  up  to— foolishness  ?  "  He  stared 
at  her  keenly. 

The  flush  in  her  face  deepened.  Then  the  light 
of  mischief  flashed  across  it 

"Not  John  Junior,"  she  said  quietly. 

He  continued  to  look  at  her. 

A  grim  smile  touched  his  lip. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said. 

He  felt  a  sudden  deep  relief.  She  was  right  He 
was  more  of  a  fool  than  John  Junior.  The  boy  was 
all  right — and  so  was  she. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

' '  Carter —    Is  he  still  working  for  you  ?  " 

"Pretending  to,"  said  John  Senior, 
i     "He's  working  for  Eben  Braithwaite,  too,"  she 
said  quickly. 

John  Senior  stared  at  her  a  few  minutes  in  silence. 

"How  do  you  know?"  he  asked. 

"I  guessed —  I  saw  them  talking  together — not 
an  hour  ago.  I  put  on  my  bonnet  and  ran !"  She 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  311 

laughed.  "I  couldn't  stand  the  idea  of  their  doing 
you  like  that — and  no  one  to  take  care  of  you ! " 

"You're  a  good  girl,  Bel !"  he  said  after  a  minute. 

She  flushed  with  quick  pleasure. 

"It's  a  good  while  since  you  said  that  to  me !" 

He  nodded.  "About  a  year,  isn't  it?  Seems  like 
forty!  .  .  .  Well,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  some- 
thing— He  smiled  again,  the  grim  smile,  and 
nodded. 

"Braithwaite  planted  Carter  on  me  and  he's  been 
keeping  tally  right  along." 

"You've  known !"  she  gasped. 

"I've  double-crossed  him  pretty  well!"  he  as- 
sented. "It  is  such  a  nice  little  game  for  Braith- 
waite I  haven't  had  the  heart  to  break  it  up.  .  .  . 
It's  been  hard  on  me  part  of  the  time,  figuring  to 
play  up  to  him — keep  him  guessing.  But  I've  done 
it  all  right  Hodgkins  helped,"  he  added  dryly. 

She  laughed  gently.  Then  the  humor  of  it  over- 
flowed her.  He  watched  her,  nodding. 

"I  knew  you'd  enjoy  it !"  he  said.  "I've  thought 
a  good  many  times  I'd  like  to  have  you  know.  You 
understand  a  man,  Bel! —  How's  the  laundry 
business?"  he  said  abruptly. 

"Good!" 

"Making  money?" 

"Yes — I  guess  so." 

"Don't  you  know?"  he  demanded  sternly. 

"Of  course.  .  .  .  Only  we're  making  too  much 
money ! " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 


312  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"We've  got  to  expand  and  build  and — "  She1 
spread  out  her  hands.  "That  means  more  money — 
always  more ! " 

"Business!"  said  John  Senior  reverently.  He 
looked  at  her  approvingly. 

"And  more  of  your  girls,"  she  continued. 

He  smiled  serenely.  "You're  welcome  to  'em. 
The  Greeks  are  all  right.  There's  enough  for  us 
both — Greeks  and  Poles — just  as  you  said  there 
would  be."  His  eyes  twinkled  at  her. 

"Suppose  I  take  them  all?"  she  said  thoughtfully. 
He  regarded  her  a  minute. 

"It  won't  hurt  me  any,"  he  replied  significantly. 

"It  will  just  hurt  John  Junior-— that's  all !" 

She  looked  up  quickly.    He  nodded. 

"I'm  going  to  turn  the  silk-mill  over  to  John.  .  .  . 
I'm  worth  two-three  millions,  Bel !" 

The  room  seemed  to  expand  to  take  it  in — the 
exaltation  of  it. 

"And  by  the  way — "  He  looked  at  her  with  as- 
sumed carelessness —  "There's  a  little  dividend  due 
you !  .  .  .  I  put  some  stock  in  your  name  that  time 
you  got  a  raise  out  of  me ! "  He  chuckled. 

"  There's  a  few  thousand  coming  to  you.  Ill  write 
a  check  for  it  now — if  you  like,"  He  got  up.  "  And 
then  we'll  have  the  car  take  you  home.  Awful  night 
for  you  to  be  out — "  He  looked  at  her  kindly  and 
motioned  to  the  windows  where  the  rain  was  still 
coming  down,  .  .  .  He  took  her  hands  a  minute  and 
looked  at  her. 

"You're  a  good  girl!"  he  said.    "You  take  this 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  313 

money  and  build  up  your  laundry — and  if  there's 
any  more  help  wanted  you  come  to  me.  ...  I 
understand  Eben  Braithwaite's  been  helping  you 
some.  I  wouldn't  keep  that  up.  You  better  let  me 
help  you  after  this." 

He  went  toward  the  door.    He  looked  back. 

"You  wait  a  minute,"  he  said.  "I'll  make  out 
that  check.  Then  we'll  take  you  home." 


XLV 

SHE  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  a  little  quick 
sigh.  She  seemed  to  have  come  far  through  the 
storm.  She  was  back  again  with  John  Senior  hi  the 
old  trusted  way.  How  good  it  was — and  Eben 
Braithwaite  was  misty,  unreal — a  dream.  .  .  .  She 
closed  her  eyes  resting.  The  rain  beat  on  the  win- 
dow. She  heard  it  dully  behind  the  thick  curtains 
there — and  here  by  the  fire  she  was  warm  and  safe. 

She  opened  her  eyes  slowly.  A  presence  seemed 
in  the  room — a  white-faced  woman  looking  down  at 
her  with  hungry  eyes.  .  .  .  She  felt  the  warmth 
of  the  little  rain-coat  wrapping  her  about — all  the 
charm  of  it  and  the  wonder — and  the  little  thread  of 
scarlet  running  through  it.  ...  Slowly  it  came  to 
her  in  the  big  empty  room — the  rain-coat  had  shel- 
tered her  and  waked  her  to  beauty. 

There  were  tears  behind  the  closed  lids  and  there 
was  a  little  ache  in  her  heart  for  the  woman's  white 
face  and  loneliness. 

She  knew  the  heartache — for  children  unborn 
and  for  children  dead.  The  tears  behind  the  lids 
welled 

The  eyes  flashed  open  and  stared  a  little.  .  .  . 

There  where  the  white  face  had  bent  to  her  in 
loneliness  and  longing — a  young  man  stood,  a  wist- 
ful smile  on  his  lips 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  315 

"Isabel!"  he  said  softly.  .  .  .    "Isabel!" 

"Isabel  and  a  pot  of  basil."  She  heard  the  echo 
of  dream-words  and  put  out  her  hand. 

He  knelt  by  her  looking  up,  waiting. 

She  took  his  face  in  her  hands,  the  tears  on  her 
cheeks  unheeded. 

Outside,  the  rain  beat  down.  The  wind  was 
driving  across  the  hill  and  he  reached  up  and  drew 
her  against  him. 

The  poet  in  him  sang 

In  the  doorway  John  Senior  coughed  discreetly. 
He  came  over  and  laid  a  hand  on  the  quick-lifted 
heads.  Tears  were  close  behind  the  little  twinkle  in 
his  voice. 

"There — there !    Bless  you,  children !" 

He  was  looking  at  Isabel  and  smiling.  He  bent 
and  kissed  the  tears  on  her  cheeks  with  a  little 
fatherly  gesture 

"Nothing  to  cry  about!"  he  said  gently.  .  .  . 
"We  are  all  happy  now !" 

A  white  face  drifted  across  Isabel's  vision  and 
faded  in  the  room.  .  .  .  Outside,  a  horn  sounded — 
muffled  hi  the  rain. 

John  Senior  looked  up.  "Sturgis,"  he  said. 
"He's  ready  to  take  you  home." 

"I'm  going  with  her!"  said  John  Junior  quickly. 
He  was  on  his  feet  and  smiling  down  at  her  proudly. 
But  his  father  put  out  a  hand. 

"I'm  taking  Isabel  home  myself,"  he  said  quietly. 

"But  father !" 


3i6  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"No  'buts/  Johnnie! —  Not  a  'but!'  I  want 
to  use  the  car  myself.  \  If  I  let  you  take  her  home 
I  might  not  get  it  back  for  hours ! " 

So,  bare-headed  in  the  rain  John  Junior 
took  her  to  the  car.  ...  At  the  foot  of  the 
steps  they  paused  and  turned  looking  toward  the 
town 

The  rain  had  nearly  ceased.    Only  a  few  drops  fell. 

Over  the  town  hung  a  curious  misty  light  that  grew 

t  and  changed  as  they  looked.    The  clouds  were  lumi- 

•  nous —    Slowly,  above  the  horizon,  an  arch  of  color 
glowed  on  the  sky. 

John  Senior  descending  the  steps  behind  them 
paused 

"A  lunar  rainbow!"  he  said  wonderingly.  "It's 
a  sign  of  luck,  they  say.  You  don't  often  see  a  bow 

•  like  that!" 

They  stood  with  faces  lifted  to  it,  watching  the 
'color  grow  till  an  arch  hung  perfect  in  the  sky,  a 
faint  elusive  wonder  shining  from  moonlit  drops. 

Isabel's  face  quivered.    Life  swept  by  her — and  in 

i  the  high-hung  bow  she  saw  it  gleam  and  glow  with 

color  and  fade  into  the  sky.  .  .  .    The  clouds  grew 

silver-edged.     The  moon  flooded  from  behind  them 

and  shone  on  the  waiting  car. 

John  Junior  put  her  in  and  tucked  the  robe  about 
her.  He  bent  forward  and  kissed  the  face  that  trem- 
bled toward  him  in  the  dimness. 

"There — there!"  said  John  Senior  huskily. 
"Drive  on,  Sturgis'" 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  317 

And  the  car  sped  swift-rolling  down  the  hill — 
where  the  little  rain-coat  had  gone  speeding,  flapping 
against  stout-flying  legs  and  covering  the  happy 
heart  of  a  child. 


XLVI 

"WHAT  made  you  wait  so  long,  John?"  Ellen 
Braithwaite  drew  back  from  him  with  the  little  slow 
amused  smile.  .  .  .  "Why  didn't  you  speak  for 
yourself — the  other  night!" 

"I  didn't  know  the  other  night,"  he  said  stoutly. 
"I  thought  you  were  way  up  above  me!"  He 
seemed  to  see  her  on  her  heights.  "My  son  might 
be  good  enough — but  not  me  /" 

"And  I  was  right,  too —  I'm  not  good  enough  for 
you.  But  if  you  say  you'll  have  me  you  will  never 
regret  it,  Ellen.  .  .  .  I'm  not  a  fool.  I'll  learn. 
I'll  change " 

"Don't  change  too  much !"  she  laughed.  "I  like 
you,  just  as  you  are,  you  know ! " 

His  face  grew  humble  and  wistful.  "  I  know  how 
you  mean  that,  dear — but  I  don't  want  to  be  just  a 
kind  of  clown  to  you.  I  want  to  stand  alongside  and 
protect  you — and  understand  you."  He  said  the 
last  words  under  his  breath. 

She  held  out  a  hand. 

"No  one  will  ever  understand  me  as  you  do,"  she 
said  swiftly.  "We  belong  to  each  other.  We  be- 
long to  a  different  time  from  this  new  generation. 
We  want  beauty  and  power  and  the  heaped-up  riches 
of  the  earth ! "  She  laughed  softly. 

"The  heaped-up  riches  of  the  earth ! "  she  repeated 

318 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  319 

gently.  "They  are  willing  to  risk  everything — 
throw  it  aside — to  live  with  each  other — and  an 
idea!"  She  seemed  to  hold  it  off  and  look  at  it 
thoughtfully. 

"I  told  Bel  she  was  a  regular  Bolshevik!"  said 
John  Senior  dryly. 

"No.  It  isn't  the  giving-up  they  want — nor  the 
making  other  people  give  up —  It's  just  the  chance 
to  work  together.  I  know.  I  can  see  it.  ...  But  I 
don't  dare  /"  She  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  If  you  take  me,  John,  you  must  know  me  through 
and  through.  I  want  beautiful  things.  I  cannot 
give  them  up — just  for  the  joy  of  living  hi  people — 
the  way  Isabel  does.  She  belongs  to  the  new  day. 

"I  am  the  old!" 

"The  old  day  is  not  done  with  just  yet!"  said 
John  Senior. 

"Not  by  a  long  shot !"  he  added  after  a  minute. 

"  They  think  they  are  going  to  make  over  the  world 
in  a  day  or  so.  But  there'll  be  a  good  many  hard 
knocks  before  they  get  it  fixed  up  to  suit  'em.  We'll 
hang  on  to  a  little  good  money  for  'em — and  a 
few  other  good  things." 

"They  may  come  hi  handy  later  on — for  the 
children,  you  know !"  he  explained  dryly. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No,  you're  wrong!  They  won't  ask  our  help. 
They  have  the  secret — the  new  life.  It  belongs  to 
them.  They  have  given  up  our  gold  for  it — and  they 
are  glad — glad — glad !  Oh,  I  know.  I  can  see.  .  .  . 
But  I  cannot  go  with  them.  So  I  have  you!"  She 


320  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  John  Senior  took  it 
almost  reverently  and  held  it  in  his. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  you  need  me,"  he  said  simply. 
"I'd  be  pretty  lonely  in  this  new-fangled  time  if 
there  wasn't  somebody  needed  me — and  understood 
I've  done  the  best  I  could  about  making  the  money. 

"You'll  help  me  spend  it  right !"  He  was  looking 
at  her  with  shrewd  admiring  eyes. 

She  returned  the  look  slowly — and  John  Senior 
saw  suddenly  that  there  was  admiration  in  the  gaze 
meeting  his  so  steadily. 

He  stared  at  it  surprised  and  unbelieving.  He 
shook  his  head. 

She  smiled  gently. 

"There  is  one  thing — with  all  their  wisdom — they 
haven't  found  out  yet!"  she  said  quietly.  "They 
don't  know  that  when  the  new  day  comes  there  will 
be  no  more  men  like  you ! " 

She  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders.  She  was  taller 
than  he,  but  she  did  not  look  down  on  him.  She 
seemed  to  draw  him  to  her  height.  .  .  .  He  felt 
for  a  minute  that  he  overlooked  the  world.  .  .  . 
The  new  day  was  hidden  behind  the  veiling  mists, 
but  whatever  might  come  John  Senior  knew  for  a 
moment,  and  knew  to  the  utmost,  that  life  was  good. 


XLVII 

THE  two  o'clock  train  drew  in  to  the  station  at 
Hanover  and  James  Murphy,  of  Dart  and  Com- 
pany, stepped  onto  the  platform. 

It  was  nearly  two  years  since  he  jotted  down  on 
his   memo-pad —    "  When   in  vicinity   Hanover — ' 
look  up  young  woman —    Merton"  ...    He  had 
not  thought  that  two  years  would  go  by  before  he 
would  be  in  the  vicinity  of  Hanover. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  and  replaced  it  quickly.' 
Ten  minutes  late.    He  would  have  tune  to  see  this 
Miss  Merton,  engage  her  if  things  developed,  and 
catch  the  three  o'clock  that  connected  at  the  junction 
with  the  train  for  Boston. 

An  expressman  on  the  platform  directing  the  work  , 
of  two  men  who  were  raking  the  ground  at  the  side 
of  the  building,   turned  an  appraising  glance  as 
Murphy  put  his  question 

"Miss  Isabel  Merton?"  he  repeated.    "No  such1 
person  in  town. ' '    There  was  a  little  quizzical  twinkle 
under  the  visor  of  the  express  cap. 

"Where  has  she  moved  to?"  asked  Murphy 
quickly. 

"She  hasn't  'moved'  exactly,"  answered  the  man.' 
"She's  married."  The  twinkle  under  the  visor 
deepened. 

James  Murphy  ignored  it.  "No  train  before 
three,  I  suppose?"  he  said  shortly. 

321 


322  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

"No,  sir —  Due  three-five."  He  gave  a  direc- 
tion to  the  men  who  were  raking  and  turned  away. 

Murphy  walked  to  the  end  of  the  platform  and 
stood  looking  down  the  shining  tracks  to  the  junc- 
tion. ...  He  might  have  known!  They  always 
marry — the  best  ones ! 

He  strolled  back  along  the  platform  and  stood 
idly  watching  the  men  at  work. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?"  he  asked  the 
expressman. 

"Seed  it  down — put  in  shrubs.  .  .  .  She  said 
we'd  have  flowers,  too,"  he  added  dubiously.  "I 
do'  no'  about  that.  I  guess  some  of  the  women  will 
tend  to  it."  They  stood  watching  the  even  sweep 
of  the  rakes. 

"You  going  to  see  her?"  he  asked. 

"  Who  ?"  inquired  Murphy  with  indifferent  glance. 

"You  was  asking  about  Miss  Merton,  wa'n't 
you  ?  She's  helping  plan  this — "  He  moved  a  hand 
to  the  rakes. 

Murphy  cast  a  glance  along  the  tracks  leading  to 
the  junction —  Nothing  to  do  or  see ! 

"How  far  is  it?     Where  do  I  find  her?" 

The  man  scratched  his  head  and  tilted  the  cap  a 
little  forward. 

"Hard  telling — I  guess  perhaps  you'd  find  her  at 
the  laundry  about  this  time." 

Murphy  stared. 

"Laundry?"  He  turned  quickly.  "You  mean 
she's  working?" 

"You  bet!"  replied  the  man  cheerfully. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  323 

Murphy's  heart  leaped  ...  he  could  offer  higher 
wages  than  a  laundry  would  pay.  Let  her  bring  her 
husband  along — bring  the  whole  family !  He  smiled. 

"Where  is  this  place?"  he  asked —  ..J'This  laun- 
dry?" 

"First  side  street — just  off  Main,"  said  the  man. 
"You  can't  miss  it." 

Murphy  thanked  him  and  sprinted. 7  He  had 
waited  five  minutes  but  he  could  still  make  it. 
Things  were  coming  his  way ! 

He  noted  with  quick  eye  as  he  hurried  along  that 
Hanover  was  a  tidy  place — yards  raked,  walks  edged 
with  clean-cut  turf,  and  flower-beds  ...  all  the 
difference  between  a  well-dressed  woman  and  a 
slattern.  He  had  not  expected  Hanover  would  be 
such  a  trim  little  place. 

The  young  woman  who  answered  his  ring  looked 
him  over  coolly.  She  wore  a  white  muslin  cap  with 
the  Puritan  corners  turned  well  back,  and  a  large 
white  apron  that  covered  her  trim  person  from  head 
to  foot. 

"I  am  looking  for  a  young  woman  who  was  Miss 
Isabel  Merton — "  he  said.  "You  were  not  perhaps 
Miss  Merton?" 

She  gave  a  crisp  little  laugh.  "No  such  luck! 
My  name  is  Hodgkins.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"I  wanted  to  see  her,"  replied  the  man.  "Miss 
Isabel  Merton — before  she  married." 

Fannie  Hodgkins  smiled  slightly. 

"Well-  Come  in.  She's  busy.  But  I'll  see." 
She  ushered  him  into  the  room  at  the  right  of 


324  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

^  • 
the  hall  and  left  him.    He  looked  about  him  with 

quick  glance.  The  low-ceiled  room  filled  with 
sunlight  and  the  wicker  furniture  upholstered  in 
chintz  had  a  homelike  air.  There  were  flowers  on 
the  table  and  a  fire  burned  in  the  old  fireplace  under 
a  panelled  mantel. 

"A — laundry !"  murmured  James  Murphy. 

He  seated  himself  by  the  fire. 

He  wondered  a  little  what  he  would  have  to  pay 
her.  *  The  homelike  room  flashed  a  doubt  to  him 
whether  it  might  not  be  a  little  more  than  he  had 
counted  on. 

A  woman  stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  in.  Her 
white  cap  and  apron  covered  her  completely,  but  the 
hair  under  the  cap  glinted  and  the  whiteness  of  the 
apron  seemed  to  come  from  some  inner  source  and 
surround  her  with  light  She  regarded  him  quietly 
as  she  came  forward. 

He  was  on  his  feet.  "My  name  is  Murphy,"  he 
said  quickly.  "Of  Dart  and  Company." 

"  Oh ! "  The  question  in  her  face  relaxed.  "  You 
have  the  wrong  place.  It  is  my  father,  Aaron  Mer- 
ton,  you  want — the  third  shop  to  the  right  on  Main 
Street." 

He  shook  his  head.  "No.  I  wanted  you —  You 
sent  us  an  order  for  goods — over  a  year  ago  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  "I  did."  She  smiled.  .  .  . 
Aaron  Merton  and  the  back-room  and  the  dancing 
circle  of  girls  were  in  the  smile.  He  regarded  it 
with  courage.  .  .  .  His  luck  was  holding ! 

"That  order  interested  me  very  much,"  he  said. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  325 

"It  interested  me,"  she  replied.  The  smile  of 
happiness  lingered  in  her  words. 

"How  long  have  you  been  working  here — for  these 
people?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"How  long?"  Her  face  held  it  a  moment  while 
she  thought —  "It  is  nearly  sixteen  months — since 
I  began." 

"Pay  well?"  he  pursued. 

She  leaned  forward  with  a  quick  look —  "You 
are  interested  in  the  laundry?"  she  asked. 

"  I  am  interested  in  your  connection  with  it — yes." 

"It's  an  experiment,  of  course,"  she  said  intently. 
"But  it  is  going  well —  I  am  almost  afraid  some 
days —  It  doesn't  seem  as  if  it  could  keep  on  like 
this!  We  had  sixteen  hampers  from  outside  last 
week,  parcels-post,  and  express."  The  stars  were 
glowing  under  the  cap  and  electric  forces  danced  in 
the  room.  They  collided  with  James  Murphy.  He 
sat  up. 

The  Celt  in  him  awoke. 

"I'm  on  the  wrong  track!"  he  said  dryly. 
"Would  you  kindly  explain  to  me — just  what  this 
is  ?  "  He  moved  a  hand  at  the  sun-filled  room.  The 
gesture  took  in,  with  a  little  touch  of  deference,  the 
white-clad  figure  before  him. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  the  Laundry?"  she  asked. 

"Very  much !"  he  replied  emphatically. 

She  led  him  through  the  rooms  where  the  girls 
were  working. 

In  the  yard  outside,  the  fruit  trees  were  in  bloom. 
The  spicy  scent  drifted  to  him  as  they  crossed  to  the 


326  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

new  building  beyond,  and  the  hum  of  bees  came  with 
the  scent  of  blossoms.  .  .  .  James  Murphy  was 
puzzling  it  out.  .  .  .  This  woman  was  not  the  boss. 
He  felt  sure  of  that. 

Two  girls  discussing  something  drew  her  aside  for 
a  moment  and  she  spoke  a  word  or  two  and  joined 
him  again. 

The  place  moved  to  something  steady — that  you 
could  not  put  your  finger  on.  There  was  steam  and 
suds —  Clothes  stretching  away  on  the  lines  beyond 
the  fruit  trees.  .  .  .  And  over  it  and  under  it  the 
humming  of  the  bees. 

She  stood  under  the  trees  looking  up.  The  shad- 
ows touched  her  white  cap. 

"We  are  going  to  add  a  canning-room  in  the  fall," 
she  said,  "for  fruit.  One  of  the  girls  wants  to  try 
lit" 

He  stared  a  little — and  added  it  to  the  collection 
in  his  mind. 

"We  shall  have  two  new  buildings  next  year  and 
a  central  heating  plant,"  she  went  on.  "That  will 
simplify  things."  She  led  him  back  through  the 
house  to  the  hall. 

A  sound  floated  down  the  stairs — a  child  crying 
and  quickly  soothed.  Then  the  sound  of  the 
mother's  voice  laughing  in  broken  words. 

She  nodded  to  his  glance  of  inquiry.  "Mrs. 
Hodgkins  lives  up-stairs,"  she  said. 

She  moved  with  him  toward  the  door  that  opened 
onto  the  street.  He  ignored  the  open  door  and 
turned  to  her. 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  327 

"If  you  can  spare  me  ten  minutes  more  I  shall  be 
grateful  to  you.  There  are  things  I  want  to 
ask." 

She  led  the  way  with  a  smile  to  the  room  on  the 
right. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said. 

The  ten  minutes  lengthened  to  twenty — an  hour — 
two  hours.  And  James  Murphy  continued  to  sit 
in  the  homelike  room.  They  had  probed  the  laun- 
dry and  the  town  and  ranged  through  social  ethics 
and  economy  and  back  to  the  laundry  again.  What 
James  Murphy  had  been  thinking  of  for  years,  this 
young  woman  was  doing  apparently  with  no  other 
guide  than  common-sense  and  intuition.  .  .  .  Per- 
haps they  were  the  same  thing,  he  thought  for  a 
gleaming  minute.  .  .  .  She  had  no  theories  about  it 
evidently —  She  merely  did  things. 

"I  shall  give  up  the  laundry  in  the  fall,"  she  was 
saying.  "They  do  not  need  me  now — except  as  the 
laundry  needs  everybody.  I  am  going  to  work 
on  something  else —  The  Hanover  market  for  fruit 
and  vegetables !"  She  said  it  happily  and  the  look 
in  her  face  deepened  to  a  glow.  .  .  . 

"Can't  you  see  it  growing?"  she  said.  "With 
motor-trucks  and  parcels-post  we  can  supply  a  radius 
of  fifty  miles — daily  delivery  to  homes  and  stores. 
We  have  such  big  farms  to  draw  from !  And  when 
we  get  to  working  together — !"  She  spread  her 
hands.  "I  can  hardly  wait!"  The  laugh  in  her 
voice  trembled  subtly.  "And  then  when  that  is 
started  we  will  go  on  to  something  else !  Mrs. 


328  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

Hodgkins  is  talking  about  the  right  kind  of  schools. 
She  never  went  to  school  herself  after  she  was  twelve. 
But  she  wants  Hanover  made  over  for  her  boy!" 
She  laughed  happily. 

James  Murphy  looked  at  her.  His  glance  was 
thoughtful. 

"I  wonder  if  that  is  the  weak  point?"  he  said, 
slowly. 

"What  is — the  weak  point?"  she  asked. 

"That  you  women  will  always  want  change — one 
thing  this  year — another  next."  He  smiled  a  little 
grimly.  Dart  and  Company's  board  of  directors 
flashed  staidly  before  him. 

"  No  stability —  Always  shifting ! "  he  said  with  a 
laugh. 

She  held  it  a  minute. 

"I  wonder — too,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "But 
we  must  work  it  out  as  we  go.  ...  That's  the  way 
— plan  as  you  go — and  trust  it !" 

"Amen!"  said  James  Murphy  quickly.  He  sat 
up. 

"I  wonder,"  she  went  on,  "whether  it  is  because 
women  do  change  and  want  to  change  and  need  it— 
whether  that  is  the  reason  they  do  some  things 
better  than  men.  The  girls  here  seem  to  want  to  go 
from  one  part  of  the  work  to  another — almost  as  they 
change  fashions  in  the  spring  and  fall.  ...  I  don't 
know  that  they  work  any  better  or  any  worse  for 
it.  I  can't  tell —  But  down  underneath  I  know 
things  are  different — something  happy  keeps  bub- 
bling up.  ...  It  seems  almost  as  if  we  grew  with 


THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL  329 

the  things  we  keep  trying  to  do."  She  sat  consider- 
ing it. 

"I  have  never  talked  about  it  with  any  one.  No 
one  here  is  interested  in  talking,  I  guess.  But  the 
things  you  have  said  make  me  see — as  if  I  knew 
things  were  coming.  ...  As  if  we  had  all  been 
getting  ready  for  something  without  knowing  it." 

"Perhaps  the  things  women  will  do  best  are  the 
cities  and  towns,"  she  went  on.  "They  are  just 
bigger  homes  and  families — "  She  laughed  out. 
"Towns  need  bigger  wash-tubs  and  dish-pans;  that's 
all ! "  she  added  quickly.  "  Now  that  men  have  con- 
tinents and  nations  to  take  care  of  perhaps  we  shall 
have  to  stretch  our  housekeeping  a  little — make  it 
cover  whole  towns  and  do  a  few  cities.  ...  It  is  the 
kind  of  work  we've  always  had  to  do  and  liked  do- 
ing— one  thing  to-day,  another  to-morrow,  and  all 
sorts  of  detail  to  manage." 

He  was  leaning  back,  watching  her.  Here  was 
something  the  Celt  in  him  understood — something 
Dart  and  Company  with  their  systematized  business 
and  efficiency  had  not  touched. 

"It  is  the  same  with  men,  I  suspect,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  Only,  as  you  put  it,  they  are  going  to  have 
nations  and  continents  to  handle.  .  .  .  The  inter- 
est in  growing  work  that  went  with  the  farm  has 
been  crowded  out  of  mills  and  factories.  They  do 
the  same  old  thing  over  and  over.  .  .  .  We've  got 
to  get  back  somehow  to  growing  work.  Through 
group-planning  perhaps,  building  together — the  way 
men  built  the  old  cathedrals — every  man  a  part  of 


330  THE  RAIN-COAT  GIRL 

the  vision  as  it  grew.  .  .  .  We'll  build  continents 
yet ! "  There  was  a  glow  in  the  quick  words.  She 
nodded  quietly. 

"And  women  will  keep  the  fires  alive  at  home — cit- 
ies and  towns !  Perhaps  that  is  why  we  were  thrust 
out  into  business  through  the  war— and  through  every- 
thing— getting  ready  to  move  together  when  the  time 
comes.  .  .  .  There  will  be  thousands  of  women  to 
carry  on  the  peace  the  war  has  won." 

There  was  a  sound  in  the  hall.  She  turned  with 
a  smile  that  waited 

"Isabel!"  It  was  a  man's  voice,  quick  and 
imperious. 

"It  is  my  husband !"  She  went  to  the  door  and 
passed  into  the  hall. 

In  the  homelike  room  James  Murphy,  Manager  of 
the  Employment  Department  of  Dart  and  Com- 
pany, sat  and  dreamed  in  his  chintz-covered  chair. 
.  .  .  He  saw  cities  and  towns  marshal  before  him. 
He  felt  the  swift  steady  rhythm  of  lif e.  Nations  at 
play — men  and  women  working  together,  hands 
joined,  their  faces  lifted  in  the  dawn.  .  .  .  And 
under  and  over  and  around,  through  the  open  win- 
dows, sounded  the  murmuring  song  of  the  bees. 


